


Teen Years and How to Survive Them

by Theplanetprince



Category: American Dragon: Jake Long, Danny Phantom, Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Coming of Age, Dialogue Heavy, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Identity Reveal, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Multiple Crossovers, Mystery, Secret Trio, Slow Build, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28649460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theplanetprince/pseuds/Theplanetprince
Summary: the Norrisville Ninja seems to have a bone to pick with local ghost punk Invisobill, So does the American Dragon of NYC. Danny needs to fend off these new bounty hunters before they further ruin his reputation— or become corrupted themselves. In this fic we see our favorite teen superheroes out of their comfort zone and having to face some growing pains, involving their futures and who they want to be when they get older.
Relationships: Danny Fenton & Tucker Foley & Sam Manson, Jake Long & Fu Dog, Jake Long & Jazz Fenton, Randy Cunningham & Danny Fenton & Jake Long, Randy Cunningham & Valerie Gray
Comments: 31
Kudos: 65





	1. An Impasse

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first AO3 fic, its a repost from FNN, I use both, though I am more familiar with FNN. I'm not sure why I wanted this to be the first story I post here. I've been working on it since my junior year of high school and well I feel like this tag should have more work in it. I loved all these shows as a kid and I could never find any content that I felt like I saw the characters in. That being said I hope you guys enjoy it, I'm still trying to finish it of course, so any feedback is welcome!

Zipping through the sky, Danny felt the heat of a plasma blast barely graze his cheek. He was seriously not in the mood for this. He had Lancer's creative writing period to look forward to already.

Actually, they both did!

Danny flipping onto his back to address Valerie to her face, yelled, "DON'T YOU HAVE SOMEWHERE TO BE," then thinking quickly, he added, "KID?"

He continued to berate Grey, "I'm dead, and I have all the time in the world! Are you so into me that you cleared your whole day planner?"

The response that followed was three more blasts from her plasma rifle. The phantom figured he deserved that.

"There's nothing that will stop me from kicking your sorry behind back into the afterlife!" Val screamed.

What was supposed to be a rather routine Box Ghost apprehension spiraled out of control. Attracting not only the likes of Valerie Grey but Skulker— the ghost zone's model of a huntsman.

He rounded the corner zigzagging through a clutch of apartment buildings, "Hey! at least my death is more eventful than your social life!" Fenton quipped again.

Perhaps Danny was more vicious in his insults today because he truly did not like fighting Valerie at all. He had grown exhausted from trying to justify and explain. All she wanted was for him to hurt for what he did to her father—a now humiliated scientist. It sometimes felt like she had it easy; at least her dad had a reputation to destroy— unlike the Fentons.

She was his friend on more than one occasion— and his almost more than a friend. It wasn't like he had his heart torn out by her, but they, unfortunately, both lived in parallel. What they wanted… just wasn't possible.

Every time he saw her dawning her helmet, Danny couldn't help but think of how he led her here. Through his own mistakes, he put her here, and he's going to pay for it as long as he had his powers. As long as he had the will to stand up for others. Valerie was just too blind to see that in the end, they both wanted the same things… perhaps he was just too naive to think that people actually had enough ability to dive deeper within themselves. He couldn't help to try and view himself through the reflective surface of her visor.

What did she see him as?

It didn't matter— Val needed him to hurt.

Being uncharacteristically silent for one of their usual run-ins, he glanced under his arm to see if she was still chasing him.

Slamming himself chest-first into the sharp pointy end of Valerie's hoverboard. His tangible body caught itself against the metal, the momentum of flight still sending his feet pitifully forwards. That was certain to leave a bruise. He could've sworn he felt his sternum vibrating.

Somehow she had cut him off and went around in front of him.

"Actually, Ghost-boy, would you believe I actually just caught myself a date?" She growled menacingly, wrapping her fist into his collar.

"Please don't say you have a date with Justice because then we've gone full comic book."

A looming voice had pierced its way through both of their ears, "Well, well, we have the predator, and we have the prey…"

Danny cocked an eyebrow, "are you using predator in the plural sense? Because she's been kicking my butt longer than you ever have!"

Skulker suddenly appeared floating above them in the sky, hand on his wrist panel toggling his tangibility cloak.

Valerie quickly spun a laser pistol from her belt— mercilessly firing a beam through Skulker's jet pack wings.

Skulker's whole body began to jut forward and back as any control he had over his flight pattern was deflating. The balance achieved by the twin jets sputtered out like a whimper— Skulker was then sent in another direction, yelling out for help.

Blowing the steam from her pistol Grey chuckled, "So, where were we ghost boy?"

Danny tried to activate his intangibility only for Valerie's gloves to emit sparks of electricity— he screamed in pain, kicking his legs futilely.

Trying to maintain the illusion of confidence, he chuckled, "Well… clearly we weren't at the part of my daring escape, tell me, are the gloves new?"

She spoke through gritted teeth in a low growl, "I'd like to say it's been fun—"

"Glad we're on the same page."

"Goodbye, ghost boy!" She pointed the laser pistol to his chest.

The barrel pressed into him— she wasn't going to miss this time.

He felt no need to close his eyes despite being in mortal danger; he just stared at her. Almost daring her to do it. Valerie didn't have the guts. All talk. That suit wasn't filled with a human being, but bussing words and vague threats. No bite.

Out of nowhere—

"You mind if I cut in?" The voice dotted his question mark with a sword being launched through the air and landing into the brick wall. Aim impeccable. The sword had sliced the space between Danny and Valerie's faces. The hilt blocked them from seeing each other's eyes—the only sound to be heard… the quiet hum of the hoverboard. Danny tried adjusting his head within Val's tight grasp.

The pair glanced up to the rooftop parallel to them. A figure cloaked in a dark suit that inhaled the light. A scarlet scarf fluttered in the autumn breeze.

The scarf barked to Val, "Hey, he's mine."

"That's funny," Grey sneered through the mask, "I don't see your name on him!" She pointed the gun to the figure, "Why don't you move along? I think an alternative store is missing their mascot."

"Ouch wicked burn there, Salmon."

Danny feeling a bit like the third wheel, piped up, "Uh, sorry, do you have friends outside of me?"

No longer asking questions, Valerie took her shot. Before the beam could reach her target, the figure pulled something out of his pocket before throwing it on the ground.

"Smoke bomb!"

Black billows of smoke with pink sparks flickering in the burnout. The beam cut through a cloud, not colliding with anything but the vapor.

"Where did he…?" Valerie asked no one, voice slightly wavering.

Another question floated into the air, "So did you get my joke? I feel like you guys missed my joke."

Valerie screamed, dropping Danny. He fell for a few seconds before remembering that he could indeed fly… then he slowly rose back up. The phantom was also curious to see where this was going.

the figure was now sitting on the blade he had stabbed into the brick wall, "Hey."

Valerie swiftly pulled out another pistol pointing one at the figure and one in the bridge of Danny's nose.

Danny retaliated by forming an energy ball with his pointer finger, aiming his right hand at Val, then aiming his left at the figure.

"Wow, call this every party I've ever attended because I'm overdressed," the stranger cackled overdramatically, removing a chain sickle and shuriken from his belt. The chains rattled and clinked together minimally as the stranger whipped them up in a windmill.

Eyebrows furrowing, the Phantom felt his eyes ache as they lit up furiously— he just wanted to get to class, granted he hated saying it. But that was the only thing he set out to do today, and that was to complete Mr. Lancer's stupid poetry assignment! Danny mumbled, "I believe this is called an impasse, kiddos."

Valerie's weapons could be heard charging with a sharp automatic ping, "I concur."

Tension swam around them as eyes passed to eyes, glances to each of their hands. No one was trembling. They all possessed the confidence in their abilities to school each other. One of them had to move; someone had to light that fuse. Something had to give way. However, they all remained as still as statues in a graveyard.

"HEY!" The window of the building opened, and an angry woman began to whisper scream at all three of them, "My kid is trying to sleep, SO IT WOULD MEAN A LOT IF YOU THREE TOOK A HIKE TO THE LOCAL FREAK CONVENTION!"

The three students put away their weapons, bowing profusely apologizing.

"You," the woman scolded, "Invisobill, this is why everyone thinks you're annoying! Being a big nuisance! JUST GO TOWARDS THE LIGHT, IDIOT!"

The mother began to go pink in the face as she set her sights on Grey, "Hunter girl, why don't you go solve actual crimes?! Jesus Christ, our only problems in this town are crazed ghost hunting fiends like you tearing up the skies with your tortured backstories!"

Leaning further out of the window, she pointed to the stranger who now looked very sheepish, nearly dropping the chain as he was slowing its spin " And you…" she trailed off, "I DON'T KNOW WHO THE HELL YOU ARE, BUT YOUR SWORD IS THROUGH MY CUPBOARD!"

"IF YOU KIDS AREN'T OUT OF HERE IN THE NEXT FIVE MINUTES, I WILL CALL THE POLICE… and if my kid wakes up, I'll kill you all myself." With her tirade concluded, she slammed her window shut.

Disappearing in an instant with the snap of his fingers, Danny bid the both of them farewell, "To be continued, nerds."

The stranger queried absentmindedly, "Can you kill ghosts twice?"

"WHY DON'T YOU FIND OUT?!" Valerie pointed both plasma guns at the stranger, her visor now reflecting not a new target but a new problem.

The stranger jostled the chain sickle in his hand, "you know you guys are pretty fun; I don't actually get a rise out of my usual gallery."

"Excuse me?!"

Recovering from his sudden detour, Skulker swung back in the fray, blocking out the rising sun. A shadow was now cast on the two budding rivals. Suddenly Valerie could barely see the stranger; the black suit became indistinguishable from the brick wall.

"WAIT! Where's that ghost child?! I can't sense him." Skulker announced in demand, awash in total befuddlement.

The chains could still be heard rattling. Two black lines appeared in the sky, leashing Skulker in place. The chains wormed and snaked around Skulker's robotic body. Wrapping around his neck and shoulders— he was yanked forward as the stranger swung up and round Skulker, adding another loop in the chain necklace.

The stranger kept Skulker saddled with the makeshift leash. He twisted his end of the reign around his fist. The stranger punched in a direction causing Skulker to writhe and turn to the north. The stranger haughtily cocked his head, stepping on Skulker's face, "thanks for the lift, gruesome."

Grey cupped a hand over her mouth and shouted until she was out of breath, "THIS IS NOT OVER!"

"Oh, trust me," the stranger declared, "I'm eagerly looking forward to the conclusion, Salmon."

Hands falling to her side Grey sighed; the sun once again was on her skin as the stranger flew off on Skulker's body. She felt warm from both the light and her unyielding rage.

The sword had left a hole in the apartment building wall; it was now a reminder to Valerie to always take the shot. She struck the wall causing a puff of dust to exhale from the bricks. Hand stinging behind her gloves, from the inside, Val could faintly hear a baby hiccup and then break into a full-on wail.

Hastily backing away, Grey barely kept her balance on her board before rushing off to school.

* * *

Danny picked at the peas on his lunch tray, "I'm telling you guys there is a new ghost hunter."

Tucker looked up from his PDA, "I didn't say I didn't believe you, but that wasn't a regular old ghost hunter. What ghost hunter uses a sword?"

"I don't know," Danny admitted, placing his chin into his hand. It did seem very impractical considering that most ghosts phased through objects. But he pointed at Tucker, offering, "Well, my parents would… specifically my mom… my mom would totally make a ghost hunting sword."

Chewing a forkful of salad, Sam rolled her eyes, "That's not a sword, nitwits."

Danny glanced at Tucker, and Tucker glanced back at Danny. They didn't know what exactly she was getting at. It had a large blade coming out of a pommel— it seemed very sword-like.

"C'mon Tuck, you watch unhealthy amounts of anime— and you can't recognize a Ninjato?" She sighed, enhancing the image on the PDA with the stylus.

Foley smacked her hand away from his precious baby, "Watch the goods, Manson!"

"See? Look, the top of the blade doesn't end in a point like a traditional European sword."

Danny scratched the back of his head, "Okay, but then wouldn't it be a katana?"

"Oh my god," Manson snorted, "not every Asian blade is a katana!"

Foley joked, "That's very swordist of you, Danny."

Frustratedly Danny balanced the plastic fork between his fingers and began beating the prongs on the table, "So all we know about his guy is that he uses a fancy sword—"

Tucker and Sam gave him a knowing glance.

He corrected, "Ninjato, we know he uses some fancy Ninjato." He threw up his hand, "That still doesn't tell us a lot."

"Actually, if either of you two had let me finish, I know who you fought, Danny." Tucker then zoomed out the image on his device, then turned it for Fenton's review.

"You do?" Danny questioned incredulously.

"Rule one of being friends with Tucker Foley: Do not doubt Tucker Foley." He grinned smugly, "This guy in the picture matches what you've been telling us. This is him— the Norrisville Ninja."

Danny stared at the familiar costume in the photo. It shouldn't have been this easy— because it never was this easy.

There was a crowd of people in the adulation of this supposed hero. Yet what possible reason could a 'ninja' be chasing after ghosts? He couldn't help but think of Valerie, did he somehow in some parallel way perform a slight against this guy? Now this ninja was gonna bust his chops with thousand-year-old martial art techniques. Not to mention any other surprises he could have tucked away in that suit.

A chill shot through his spine, and an icy breath forcefully exhaled through his mouth. Danny sighed, "Why didn't all three of us become burdened with ghost superpowers? So we all can take turns beating up the Box Ghost?"

Tucker closed the tab and article on The Norrisville Ninja, "What makes you so certain that it's Box Ghost?"

"Because today can't get any worse." Danny dove under the table, a bright flash of light, and he was totally gone. Tucker and Sam would've normally covered him, but it was pretty crowded considering that it was the big county student switch. Everyone was distracted and abuzz with tinny rumors that sounded like the chatter of a lottery ball being picked.

Few lucky students from around the state were randomly chosen to… to deepen community ties? To broaden career opportunities? The goal of the program was unclear. Either way, a bunch of weirdos were picked from a bunch of weirdo schools, and they were supposed to stay for a week or two.

Paulina, Star, and Mikey so far had been switched.

Sam noticed that among the newcomers, there was another goth. While she craved the comradery, she didn't want to appear as if she was attempting to trend set. In fact, this week, she didn't want to attempt at all. Perhaps in the midst of students' hype, she could try to slip her phone number to this goth. But she didn't want to look as if she was hit up for friends with common interests.

This goth was dressed in a top hat with a bob cut, eyeliner, pale pearl foundation, and long dark blazer, which was the broke person's pass at steam goth. Sam admired the classy vintage style.

Her eyes following the hat being shuffled through the crowd. Manson shook Tucker's shoulder, "Tuck."

Tucker responded with a zombie-like, "uh-huh."

Elbowing him sharply in the gut, "Tucker!"

"Jeez!" He grunted," What?"

"That steampunk goth kid is coming over here," She said in the most deadpanned excited voice.

Craning his neck, Foley scanned the cafeteria before spotting the ugly hat, "Oh yeah, I guess that strange swinging pattern could be predetermined to be our direction."

Manson sharply pulled on his beret, temporarily blinding him, "Smartass."

The crowd broke as a lanky Japanese kid broke through the mass of bodies, on his head a neatly decorated crushed navy blue velvet top hat with a shrunken skull adorned on the front with a singular feather poking out from it. His outfit was not immaculate; in fact, this kid looked like he had slept in his clothes the night before. Sure the clothes were dark, but a bright red T-shirt with a narrow white stripe in the middle? It did not coalesce, Sam thought. The boy was positively effervescent with joy and happiness uncrushed by the capitalist system.

The Japanese kid ducked and weaved through the other lingering students, calling after someone," Cmon Julian! You almost had me that time!"

Immediately afterward, the out-of-breath goth kid spilled out of the mouth of the crowd, "Randall! Please!"

"With Howard gone," he led the goth kid to the front of Sam and Tucker's table, so it felt like they had no choice but to listen in, "you're gonna have to keep up with me. I'm gonna need a co-grave puncher; I'm gonna need a player two."

"I did not consent, nor did I volunteer for that position!" The goth snatched his hat from the top of the taller kid's head.

"Oh! What if I called you Jules?" The boy slung his arm around the goth kid, "Y'know to cement the whole friend thing?" He spoke out the side of his mouth, "You kind of owe me after that doctor's note incident."

The goth shoved the boy away and stormed off, adjusting his hat and feather to be the most aesthetically dreary and gloomy.

Now alone, the boy snapped his head toward Sam and Tucker's table.

Sam refused to make eye contact, while Tucker, the gardener of the grapevine of Casper high— the foreman of the rumor mill, if you will— gawked unapologetically.

Ramming her boot into Tucker's shin, he yelped in pain and glanced down at the table. However, the damage had been done.

The boy inched his way between the seat and table, "is this spot taken?"

"Yes!" "No!"

… Sam glared at Tucker as hard as she could manage without cracking her cakey foundation around her eyes.

"Uh… okay," he stuck out his hand, "Randy Cunningham, ninth grade."

"Tucker Foley, also ninth grade."

"Sam Manson, don't care."

Randy maneuvered deftly to the other side of Danny's tray, taking a seat. He grinned pleasantly, closing his eyes.


	2. Excessive Tardiness

"No way! You have a Mcfist phone?" Foley exclaimed in wonderment.

Randy absentmindedly checking his email for his handler to provide more information about the hunter girl. Sam was positioned behind Tucker close to the window. Tucker was fixated on the tech in Randy's hand. Randy thought that the kid was going to start drooling.

Cunningham was assigned the only seat available was toward the front, almost right in front of Mr Falluca's desk. Randy froze, now with all eyes on him. A few girls in the back giggled and whispered with their words only being identified in their mocking tone.

Randy's new environment allowed him to reinvent his image, at least posture like he wasn't a social disease back home. It would be a nice change of pace for a week. So far, not so bruce.

Rising from his desk, Mr Falluca sighed, "Mr Cunningham, is it?"

"Uh, Randy Cunningham, ye-yeah," He agreed, nodding with trepidation. Real cool, Cunningham. If Sam weren't already doing it for him, he would've facepalmed.

Mr Falluca lowered Cunningham's book shield, "I'm not sure how they run the ship at Norrisville, Mr Cunningham, but here at Casper High, we have a policy on student devices." The science teacher pointed to a sign next to the door, with what appeared to be a wavy creature that bore a resemblance to both a wave of electricity and a ghost.

Randy felt his eyebrows scrunch together, and he lowered his phone, "Oh! I-I'm sorry about that, won't happen again." He smiled innocently.

"Don't make it a habit, Mr Cunningham."

The door burst open, causing several students to jump in place. Assuming the worst- that a ghost had entered the building. Unknowingly, they were half correct. Danny slammed the door shut- grass stains layering up on his shirt, hair disheveled. Randy thought he saw him earlier, with Sam and Tucker, though it was like he suddenly vanished into thin air. Danny definitely stood out now. His shoulders were tensed and raised as he was trying to gulp down breaths. Danny had been running. Randy briefly removed his hand from his chin, curious.

"Speaking of habits," Mr Falluca rolled his eyes, arms crossing his barrel of a chest sternly, "Mr Fenton, pleasure for you to finally join us."

Huffing hard, Danny casually stole a bottle of water off the front desk. The girl sitting there didn't even look startled when he did it. Implying that this was a regular day. After downing the whole bottle, he tossed it into the trash.

"I hope you're prepared to entertain us all with your wild excuses of how you were locked in the janitor's closet, or how your well-off sister Jasmine forgot her car keys," Mr Falluca glared down his nose at Danny," or you were chased about the library by the ghost of Pointdexter, I think we could all use the laugh."

Danny opened his mouth but then caught himself- there was a body now filling his seat. He caught himself looking at Randy, then feeling his frustration with the day boil under his skin, causing goose-pimples.

"I… see, there was this- uh, guy and-" Danny then blinked now his frazzled expression now replaced with indifferent determination," Okay, okay, I'll tell you the truth,"

Sitting up and inching toward the edge of her seat, Sam gave him a pleading look to grab Danny's attention.

"I was attacked by a fire-breathing dragon! I was thrown in the dumpster out back and woke up before the trash truck compressed my body like a soda can!"

The room was now auspiciously quiet, say for a pencil rolling off a desk near the wall. The students then broke into the same teasing mumbles. They were in a vacuum of confusion, disbelief. Randy had heard from the email that strange things happen in amity park, but he initially thought it was only of the ghost type.

"Fenturd, I'm surprised you thought you were good enough to be recycled!" A big blond guy in a letterman stood up, causing his chair to squeak with the quickness. Guffaws and uproarious laughter erupted from the classroom.

Randy shot a glare at the jock. Then glanced back at Danny; his entire body was tense. Randy knew what someone that carried anguish looked like. He knew very well. It was almost like a sense of his now, being empath by nature of his work. Most of the time, to avoid a monster fight, you had to talk down the monster from the outside. Perhaps viscerally aware that he was… a loser, Randy knew that was what made him such a good ninja. Pain can recognize pain.

Mr. Falluca, after a few minutes of laughter, finally broke the noise, "Alright! That's enough- next person throwing a paper will clean this room from top to bottom- Fenton, I'll get you your detention slip. Do you have a preference in color?"

Snidely, Danny mumbled, "Maybe get some with puppy paw prints on them."

"Should I get a set of complementary colors if you're going to back sass?" Fallcua pulled out his desk drawer, grasping a pad of notes, all of which had the name a cause of punishment filled out on them. Name: Danny Fenton, grade: nine, cause: excessive tardiness.

"Since Mr Cunningham was here on time," Falluca gestured to Randy, who sheepishly scratched his head while sitting in Danny's chair, "I welcome you to take an extra chair from the back and sit up here with me to make sure you cause no further distractions."

Danny narrowed his eyes at Cunningham.

"Hey teach, I can just sit on the floor," Randy offered," No cruel and unusual punishment required."

"Mr Cunningham, don't waste the energy," the teacher scolded, "You'll find in your two short weeks that Fenton here can lie to you straight in the face, that he'll have you believe that two plus two does equal fish."

Danny trudged to the back of the room, dragging a chair from the back, muttering, "You write a joke in your notes one time." - not bothering to pick it up, he might as well let the negative energy radiate and fester.

Falluca lamented to Cunningham with unnecessary harshness, "I think you best keep your nose clean and stay away from any Fenton you can. There's your first lesson."

Randy could feel Sam's equal if not greater anger aimed at the base of his neck; a shiver went through him- Sam wondered if her Wiccan powers were working, and the vision of Randy's untimely death was coming across through projection.

Though Randy's own guilt still could be felt clenching his chest, outweighing Sam and Danny's dirty looks.

Since Danny now blocked Falluca's view better than any textbook could. Randy knew a few things already; one was how to be annoying. Though he also knew that he couldn't pull this off without a little bit of Weinerman magic.

_Rander-roo: Hey, Howard, can I ask a favor?_

_Howard-the-hoe: Favor of what variety, Cunningham?_

_Rander-roo: I need you to call me r.n._

_Howard-the-hoe: r.n-r.n?_

_Rander-roo: r.n-r.n._

As the three dots disappeared and reappeared, Cunningham almost let out a groan, impatient.

_Howard-the-hoe: Okay._

He smiled to himself. He loved how Howard no longer asked questions anymore.

Within thirty seconds of receiving the okay from Howard, Randy had switched his phone from silent to full blast. Then the phone began to vibrate against the desk before belting out-

"WHOOP-WHOOP-WHOOP-WHOOP-WHOOP-WHOOPEE-WHOOP-WHOOP-WHOOP-WHOOP-WHOOP-WHOOPEE-WHOOP-WHOOP-WHOOP-WHOOP-WHOOP-WHOOPEE!"

Randy felt a devious smirk stretch into his cheek. He kissed his fleeting good-boy reputation goodbye and was welcomed back in a warm embrace to rock-bottom. He let the phone cycle through two more rings. He didn't need to look up to even know that he was being observed with scrutiny. When he finally lifted his head, Randy presented a 'who, me?' face before saying facetiously," Oh… Oh, that's me. I am sorry, excuse me, I have to take this."

Dragging the phone across the desk, he put it up to his ear before loudly announcing, "Go for Randy, let's get Randy tonight, Randy speaking."

* * *

So, of course, they had to invite Randy to the Nasty-Burger; of course, they had to invite him to their booth. After the most epic display of flagrant authority punking they've ever seen, it had earned Tucker's respect, with Danny and Sam's tolerance in tow.

The first thing that the group noticed about Randy was that he loved to talk. Though what he chose to talk about was rather superficial. It was more like he was a page out of 'relatable teen digest.'

'What do you do for fun?'

'Oh yeah, uh, video games.'

'Favorite subject?'

'Lunch?'

'Favorite hangout?'

'The Hole Arcade back in Norrisville.'

That particular answer stumped the three of them because they couldn't figure out which hole he meant or was referring to. It seemed like everything reminded him of something else. He spoke in paragraphs about various adventures he went on- though perhaps Sam could tell when someone was carefully omitting something like they were blacking out a document with names and locations. Whenever someone prodded too close, Randy would then do something or say something outrageous to distract from the topic. Typical deflection. Sam had witnessed Danny use it on his parents many times before, but why was she the only one who could see it now?

Sipping her diet cola, Manson kept her suspicion shushed, and her tongue clamped firmly between her teeth.

The laughter from another classic Randy anecdote had died down. Tucker sighed, "Sucks about your Fist Phone though, it had a touchscreen and everything!"

Randy dismissively waved his hand as he stuffed another handful of cheese-filled bacon-wrapped bacon fries into his face, "No sweat bro, it ain't the end of the honkin' world."

Eyebrows were reflexively cocked around the table, watching Randy wolf down food as if what he said wasn't the strangest abuse of a verb in English history.

"What?" Randy gawked back at them, "You're all staring at me like this food isn't the absolute cheese!"

Tucker adjusted his glasses, "I think it's just burgers."

Sam quickly checked her recyclo-veggie tofu melt for lactose cheese.

"No, no like- in Norrisville, we kind of use this slang that's like…" Randy thought about it for a second," you know its a local thing like it gets updated every few years," He didn't mean to sound so intellectual about it. Still, he thought it was interesting," of course, but it's really just sort of really gross combination of new jersey and yonkers accents. I'm actually kind of impressed it hadn't migrated up north to here."

Tucker felt his head go to one side, "I don't know a lot about linguistics, but that doesn't bode."

"I'm tellin' you, man, it's legit," Randy opened up another container of heartburn sauce, "Oh hey, I was pretty hyped for switch week, so I ended up buying a bunch of exclusive Norrisville tourist swag… you guys wouldn't be interested in it, would you?"

Tucker slapped the booth's table with open palms, practically yelling, "HELL YEAH!"

Randy pulled his backpack into the seat next to him and unzipped it. He pulled out a few colorful bags of candy, some plush animals, and a pair of coffee mugs.

Inspecting the bag of candy, Danny read the label aloud, "Mcfist's Mcsquizzies?"

"I also got some Mcfistos and Mcfizzies," Randy said, still rummaging a hand through his bag.

"What's the difference?" Danny found himself asking.

Picking up the packages, Randy studied them for a few moments before declaring," Couldn't tell ya, other than they are totally bruce bro."

Danny repeated, "Bruce?"

Affirming, Randy concluded, "Bruce." Cunningham slid out of his side of the booth removing various debris from his tray, "I'm gonna hit the john, b-r-b broskis."

The chatter amongst the patrons in the diner filled the lull that had entered as Randy had exited. After a record of an hour and a half, Sam finally voicing her opinion, "talk about a motor-mouth. Like does he even breathe?"

"You're one to talk," Tucker remarked with a side glance," When you get going on your save the rainforest, be nice to the animals, non-fat soapbox it's like listening to a copy-pasta but slowed, and through a fan... "

"Okay, but Randy breaking away on a school field trip to spit into a volcano isn't stretching the definition of what a story qualifies as?"

Foley pointed his thumb to his chest, "I was captivated. You have to admit we are weird kids but we never like… go out." Foley joked with a fake sob, "You guys never take me dancing."

In Danny's hand, the bag of Mcsquizzies had its weight shifted to one side and now laid limply in his hands. He had a sudden epiphany, "Did he ever mention the Norrisville Ninja in any of those stories?"

Silence fell over the table.

"Come to think of it…" Tucker began.

"I don't think he did." Sam stared up at Danny with dead seriousness.

Danny was skeptical and opened the bag of candy," There's no way, though, right?"

It's never that easy.

"Speaking of weird…" Tucker tried to wrangle in his admiration of Cunningham," back in Falluca's, didn't you say a dragon attacked you? Are Eudora and Aragorn acting up again?"

"Oh yeah- I forgot I had that meltdown." Danny shrugged, "That's the thing; it was actually a living dragon."

"What?! How could you tell?" Sam nearly yelped

Danny glanced over his shoulders before producing the Fenton Thermos from his backpack. Looking worse for wear, the lid was caved in on one side, "Well, I tried using old reliable on him."

"No way," both Sam and Tucker said in unison.

"Definitely alive, and definitely wanted to kick my ass."


	3. The Fall of the House of Nasty Burger

Randy did regret getting his phone confiscated, as it was the only way to keep in touch with Howard aside from breaking out his laptop to answer every single IM. Though considering how the staff reacted to a phone, he didn't want to imagine what they would do to his personal computer. Security at Casper wasn't what he expected. At Norrisville, since it was an inner-city school, it had metal detectors and guards performing pat-downs. Amity Park being the model of modern suburbia, instead of the dense college town Norrisville was- there was bound to be some culture clash. Amity Park didn't seem to know jack about how to party, for example. It wasn't that Randy was particularly bothered being the sole source of entertainment for these kids. He just didn't like talking about himself. Aside from being the ninja which was arguably the most interesting thing about him, Cunningham didn't have much of a life outside of it. He didn't have much of a life, to begin with.

He'd wish they'd go find a cow to tip- or something. Especially that goth girl, she seemed to stare right through Randy like a show she's seen before.

Noticing that he was called 'loud,' he couldn't decide if it was a compliment. Randy sort of assumed that everyone talked at this volume. Perhaps there was something to be said about sitting next to the band every pep rally damaging his hearing. At least it appeared that the social hierarchy at least seemed to be separated by 'rich people who play sports' and 'literally everyone else.'

Making connections was difficult. Unfortunately, he needed them to keep him around so he could get to the bottom of this.

There was a clatter from the hamidashi after Cunningham adjusted his clothes.

"Oh c'mon, this stupid… ancient holster!" Acting fast before anyone came in, he snatched up the knife from the ground. Rolling up his pant leg up to his knee.

"WELP! YOU WILL LET ME OUT IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO BECOME MY COAT RACK!"

Randy snorted, looking down at the blade that housed the ghost between the double-bladed steel walls. Sticking his tongue out at his prisoner. He could hardly believe how easy it was to capture ghosts versus destankifying the sorcerer's monsters. Granted, there was no way he could've found this missing weapon in the ninja's armory without his handler.

_Gētokīpā no hatana_

As it was labeled in the care package along with the file on Invisobill.

He placed the knife back in its sheath, then tightened the leather band around his calf before camouflaging his jeans back over it.

Making brief eye contact with himself in the mirror, Randy messed with his hair somewhat and began washing his hands. He hoped that what he was doing wasn't obvious; granted, it's not like anyone in Amity Park had an attachment to Invisobill, but the bribes certainly had to help.

How should he phrase it? 'So where are the local haunts?'

Genius Cunningham. Genius.

Rehearsing the lines in his head, the metaphorical script being jostled by the actor in his brain, he didn't hear a few others enter into the men's room.

Sneakers squeaked against the checkered and chipped linoleum floor.

"Well, well gentlemen, looks like we got the king of the misfit rejects of Norrisville high. Lanky Runningman."

Randy briefly blinked, processing what he just heard. He let out a nose laugh. Amity Park wasn't short on biting banter. That was supposed to be banter, right? Continuing to wash his hands, he ignored the lumbering herd of jocks, all of whom were patting each other firmly on the back for their cleverness.

"Hey, you listening to me, Runningman? I'm talking to you."

"You think you can just come in and take Mikey's spot? He's our prime nerd to pummel, but I guess we'll just have to make-"

Rolling his eyes, obvious enough so the pack could see him in the mirror, Randy began pumping the paper towel machine. Recognizing the leader of this pack as the same blond jerk from Falluca's class.

Upon fully turning around, he offered his hand, "Oh sorry, Randy Cunningham, nice to meet you, and you are?"

"Me? Well, you can call me your beat down, Dashell Baxter."

He did give Baxter the opportunity, Randy sighed. He calmly placed his hand on his chin— retracting his stretch of the Olive Branch, "That's funny."

Before allowing Dash to pipe in some dim-witted comment, Randy continued eyeing Dash up and down," I knew someone like you back home…"

"I'm sure you know a lot of people cooler than you, Runningman." Dash high-fived a couple of his buddies for moral support.

Circling around them with predator instinct, Randy guffawed smirking," I guess so, but he had the same vacant expression, stupid voice,"

Dash's expression dropped from that of menacing joy to beet-faced anger.

"...the same probability of working at a gas station for the rest of his life—" Randy opened his arms as if to rub in the fact that he wasn't afraid," you wanna know what his name is?"

"DEAD!" Dash roared, charging toward Cunningham. Like lightning striking the ground, all that could be seen as a blur of color. The rubber soles of his shoes stretched against the damp floor.

Throwing the loosely wadded paper towel directly to Dash's line of sight. The resting face Cunningham wore hadn't switched at all as he stepped out of the stampeding bully's path.

The satisfying noise that came from flesh and bone being smacked into the aluminum metal of the bathroom's stall had reverberated through the entire restaurant.

"Actually, his name is Bash," Randy stated, shutting off the sink's faucet.

The jocks quickly parted to each side of the bathroom, allowing Randy to exit, "I trust you guys can pick up your trash on the way out."

Perhaps as a display of victory, he held the door open as the jocks carried Dash out for all of the patrons of the Nasty-Burger to see. Blood was leaking and staining Dash's White T-shirt. He whined, "You broke my friggin' nose!"

"You're overreacting," Randy said," I didn't break your nose... you broke your nose." He closed the bathroom door behind them, stepping back into the bright ambient sunset filled diner. The burning orange light bouncing off the tile, the sun was spotlighting Cunningham. Danny's jaw fell open, Tucker stared directly at Randy in absolute awe, and Sam's neutrality had a crack of a surprised smile when she saw Dash writhe in pain.

Randy slapped a fist into his hand, triumphantly," Norrisville kids don't play around, you get me?"

Everyone immediately went back to what they were doing. If it wasn't a ghost attack, that meant they could go back to eating undisturbed. What this town needed was perhaps just the normal petty trouble that any small town gets into— such as teens brawling.

Nearly standing up, Danny demanded out of shock," What the heck was that about?"

"Ah, that? Wasn't anything," Randy dusted himself off with an air of fake humility.

"You gotta pretty big grin on your face for it being just nothing." Sam attested.

"He went to punch me, but he slipped and fell; there were witnesses."

"Right," Sam incredulously agreed.

Tucker said matter of factly," I'm going to marry you."

Causing the table to fall into laughter abruptly.

Randy scooted back into his side of the table. Briefly, his eyes fell to his bag. His expression shifted slightly— it was minute, a flash. Sam noticed, though.

Shoving his bag to the floor under the table, almost annoyed— he went back to the facade he had been leaning into the whole afternoon," So, as you all know— I'm a bit of a reckless youth."

"An American daredevil," Manson crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows.

Danny pointed at Randy with a french fry, "You're crazy enough to fight Dash and win."

"It was a fluke," Cunningham placed a hand on the back of his neck, "honest."

"... so this Invisobill dude I've been hearing about…" he began drawing circles on the table with his straw wrapper, "since you guys are locals… you wouldn't happen to know where he hangs out?"

Danny coughed a fry stuck in his windpipe. Sam quickly got Fenton his root beer. While Tucker came to rescue with, "Us? Nah, man— we don't pay attention to stuff like that— we hate ghosts!"

Excitedly Randy balled his hands together, "Please? Oh, bodacious smoking hot, please? What do I gotta do? Do you guys gotta haze me first? Do I need to say his name three times in a mirror?"

"No— god no, nothing like that, jeez!" Fenton swallowed down.

Tucker continued to run interference, "Why do you want to meet Invisobill so bad?"

"Ah, C'mon, I have to explain it?" Randy prodded, "Isn't he like a tourist attraction around here?"

"No!" All three of them protested at the same time.

Randy deflated, "you're breaking my heart here; all I wanna do is meet a ghost and get an exorcism—" he whined, "it's on my bucket list."

Danny would've been flattered if what Randy said wasn't totally weird. Danny took another sip of his drink, thinking of another excuse to dissuade Cunningham from pursuing the Phantom. Fenton shrugged, "You want to be possessed by a dangerous criminal? It's your funeral, man."

"I don't think he's as bad as everyone makes him out to be," Randy put his head on his arms resting on the table, looking up at the three with puppy eyes. He just needed a scrap of information— a fragment of anything.

Sam outright refused, "Are you crazy?"

"Give me one good reason!"

Danny found himself looking at Sam, Sam looked at Tucker, and Tucker looked at the ceiling—

The bell at the front chimed furiously as a woman burst in screaming," DRAGON, HUGE— EVERYONE RUN, ITS A DRAGON!"

"Sam, Tucker-" Danny looked at his friends before half announcing," I'm going…"

Randy's stunned face was attuned to the front entrance, but Danny couldn't take the chance, however," I'm going to... go get help!"

Danny launched himself over the table, then leaped over Randy's head. Going through the fire exit.

Fenton went high, Randy dove under the table, hugging his bag to his chest- and that was the last Danny saw out of his peripherals. Crashing through the double doors, into the alleyway- which thankfully was vacant. The outside looked as hectic as inside of the Nasty Burger.

The two pale blue rings washed over his body almost automatically. His bones burned and bent- the melting sensation that was all too familiar traveled in jolts and sparks in his nerves. Within a blink: Danny Fenton became Invisobill-

Er, Danny Phantom.

Dammit, Randy.

The gaunt crimson snake of a dragon had returned.

Phantom took a second to assess the situation; he took cover behind a parked car. He took peeks at the carnage- it felt like every time he popped up, the dragon conveniently whipped up some debris towards his head. The dying sun behind the town's taller buildings, the shine from the dragon's scales was hazy, almost making the dragon itself appear as a heat-mirage.

The dragon called out, "Aight, Invisobill, I know you're around here somewhere!"

Danny rolled his eyes. Of course. Biting the bullet, the phantom popped through the classic convertible. Danny replied, "Over here, skinny!"

Snapping to attention, the dragon exhaled a cloud of smoke with a growl. Then large wings raised into the sky, casting a large shadow across the parking lot and over Danny.

Instinctively he quickly switched to intangible. If Danny led him away from the diner, the dragon could tire himself out-

A crack noise had cut through the town as if the population wasn't even a factor. Not enough bodies to absorb the sound.

In a sonic boom, the dragon harpooned itself onto the distracted phantom. Its claws digging into Danny's shoulders, which shouldn't have been possible. The dragon could still somehow interact with him despite being…

"You could've just stayed down, dawg," The dragon sneered, "After all, you should know dragons can still beat the stuffing out of ghosts no matter how solid you think you are."

As they began to climb into the air, faster and faster- the ground seemed to expand- the once big things now shrinking too rapidly for comfort. The air had difficulty reaching Danny's lungs. Though the thing that seemed the most unfathomable was that a dragon used the colloquialism, 'Dawg.'

If he weren't fighting for his life, he would've put that so on blast-

Danny grunted out, barely hearing himself over the sharp cold wind rushing past his ears, "I guess that goes both ways?"

Then he pressed his feet into the dragon's narrow chest- almost counting the ribs through his shoes. He fired an emerald ectoblast from his boots, escaping the dragon's grasp- executing a backflip.

A risky idea entered into his oxygen-deprived head; it was certainly stupid enough.

Woozily, he staggered in the air- pointing at the dragon, he taunted, "You know, you've got to be the smallest dragon I've ever seen!"

"You look like you belong on a hotdog bun! With relish!"

The dragon flapped its wings idly. He seemed both perplexed and bothered, "Are you serious-"

"Ladies and gentleman: I've found the world's largest shrimp!"

"Short jokes? Huh?" The dragon pressed, his scales bristling. Puffing himself up like a stray cat. Anger sharpening the sheen of his scales in the light, "You got short jokes?"

"Well, if I had tall jokes, I wouldn't be using them."

The dragon's slitted pupils widened before narrowing with intensity and charged again. Crashing into Danny's svelte frame, the dragon then changed trajectory- now sending Danny speeding toward the ground.

Burying its claws into Danny once again, this time right below his ribs, squeezing him like an infectious tick.

Stealing a glance back over his shoulder, the Phantom spotted the roof of the Nasty Burger. This was going to be interesting, or really really painful. Danny held the thought at the front of his consciousness. His head fluttering- brain jostled by being tossed in the air- the pressure of the air flexed in his body- he let out a battle cry. Intangibility spread from the center of his chest out- crawling up the dragon's arms- covering the dragon's intimidating wings. Letting the sun through.

When Danny came to, he was in the rubble of the restaurant. A table was buried inside of his torso, which explained the raging pain in his hip. Whoops. At least he was still in ghost mode, thank god, Danny stood up, breathing deeply. Still in ghost mode.

"Aw, man!" The dragon cursed.

Glancing up, Danny admired his handiwork. The dragon was submerged halfway through the Nasty Burger's ceiling, his lower body stuck. Effectively trapped. If he didn't want to bring the entire building down, that dragon had to be still. It wasn't the cleanest solution, but it gave Danny a moment to think of his next move. Evacuating the location and- and… Well, Danny couldn't necessarily kill the thing. The perks of dealing with ghosts are they could typically take pain exceptionally better, and Danny didn't have to worry about killing them again-

Which probably wasn't possible. He hoped at least.

So there are two types of dragons, Danny noted. Live ones could apparently see, hear, and touch ghosts while intangible. That was troublesome.

"Is everyone okay?" Danny shouted into the dining hall.

There were various grunts and groans from inside the kitchen. Okay-ish, he concluded. Okay, enough to move. Sam emerged from the cashier's counter. Tucker eventually came out after hiding but lingered in the open, snapping pictures of the dragon.

The dragon's arms hung by its head, pathetically," Ey dawg, do you mind?"

"No, Not at all," Foley posed for a selfie before the flash timer off.

The dragon hissed- trying to take a swipe out of him, but Tucker ducked under the dragon's claw.

Gesturing to the creature and opening up the floor to his friends, "What are we gonna do with this thing?

Sam shrugged,"... well, if he's alive…"

"It's not really our department, is it? Dealing with live dangerous creatures?" Tucker acknowledged.

"Can y'all not see that I'm right here?" The dragon pointed to itself, "Did the talking dragon just suddenly start talking to hisself?"

"Well, we can't just leave him here!" Danny fumed

"That's funny. I think he'd make a good artist statement on overhunting."

Danny glanced at Sam, "Dude, what the hell? Who's side are you on? Are you only pro-hunting mythical creatures?"

The question garnered a response by way of a glare.

Norrisville Ninja appeared from behind a caved-in section of booths, rather comfortable- unbothered, "Uh, over here, Billy Idol."

"Hey! I'm not done with you. You're in violation of the mythical creature ordinan-" The dragon pouted, turning his serpent body counter-clockwise to get a better view of the phantom. However, his eyes landed on the ninja. In recognition, it seemed, the dragon tried to thrash again, "You-! Hey, step off! Can't you see we're in the middle of something?"

"Settle down!" Tucker yelped, "You're gonna hurt someone! Probably me!"

The ninja rolled his eyes, muttering, "I can say that certainly, you're in the middle _of something_." Norrisville critiqued, "No offense, but uh- a close-ranged attack? Looks like someone didn't do their homework."

"Yeah, you say that because you're right-side-up."

"Uh, yeah, no duh." The ninja picked at his nails through his bodysuit, "As for the civilians," He glowered at both Sam and Tucker, "While your 'friends' took shelter, Inviso. Actually, Can I call you Inviso? What do you prefer? Bill?"

"Phantom, actually," The ghost corrected. He switched his eyes to his friends, worried that they could become involved.

Norrisville leaned back slightly on his large ningato, amused by Danny's response, "Delightful. While your pals here took the time to save their own hides, I made sure everyone evacuated. I wanted to make sure no one got hurt, in case our 'chat' gets uh- heh, what's the word? Dragon, do you got anything?"

"..." The Dragon hissed, his forked tongue gliding between his teeth.

"Sourpuss," The ninja commented. The ninja beamed, "Anyway, lucky me, you guys decided to come back. Thanks for saving me a jog."

Danny shifted in forward slightly. If he could make the ninja think he was going for a tackle, Fenton could just blast him.

Before the Phantom even lifted his hand. A blue glowing knife streaked through the air past his head. The knife shot past, sending a shiver through the ghost's body- as if he couldn't get any colder. It spoke in tempting whispers and tortured screams. Plunging it into the back wall, Norrisville chided himself.

"Forgive me, I know I tend to ramble," The ninja lowered his voice to a growl, "I always seem to lose the point."

"I'd say you missed it completely," Danny clarified.

"Oh my god, just fight already-!" The dragon barked, spewing a plume of fire toward the Ninja. The threat was now shifting.

Sam And Tucker hit the deck again. Tucker army crawled and got shelter under an undamaged booth table

Norrisville's scarf caught the edges of the flame, which he sought to beat down. The flame couldn't break the material of the scarf, oddly. Rather ungracefully, he stumbled back, putting weight on his already injured leg. Somewhere in the scuffle, the ninja got a piece of the roof. And the hanging light, and a chair. Actually, a lot of pieces. He plucked his scarf from the ground to study it for a second.

He smirked beneath his mask- The ninja whipped his scarf toward the Phantom, wrapping it around his neck. Yanking him forward into a headbutt.

The Ninja hopped over him, extracting the Gētokīpā from the wall. The fire on his scarf now chilled just by the temperature of Danny's body- and the ghost was still reeling from the blow, rubbing his forehead. The distance between them was closing.

Spinning the knife with finesse, the ninja entered into a power stance, "What I want to say before I utterly destroy you in this fast-food establishment is that this isn't personal."

Foley, always the intellectual, interjected from the safety of the employee's area, "Wait, you- you're a total cliche!"

Danny glanced over his shoulder. Despite loving his friends and their beautiful minds- they never seemed to stay out of it!

The ninja halted; he hunched like the wind was knocked out of him, "E-excuse me?"

"Ninjas are paid assassins," Tucker panted, slightly winded from having a full stomach and running around, "Wh-who's- who's paying you to do this?"

"You guys are some eager beavers," The ninja entertained the kid while tightening the grip on his knife. He snapped his attention to Danny, who seemed to be distracted by his friends, "aren't you?"

Danny was open for another hit. Thinking fast, Sam threw herself into the fray, hopping over a pile of rubble, shielding Danny. Before the ninja could plunge the blade down, she said nothing but tried to find his eyes, to find any source of humanity in the black suit. Danny was startled at how close she was. He would've moved her immediately out of the way if Norrisville didn't seem to be hesitating. He placed the knife back in his suit but removed his chain sickle in its place.

"That's real cute, goth girl." The ninja admitted because she clearly caught him in a moral quandary- he couldn't hurt an innocent, and despite the make-up and garbage-y attitude, she was a civilian. She got him. However-

Norrisville lassoed the chain around the dragon's chest, "I'm afraid, I'm cuter." then heaved with all of his body weight. The dragon dropping onto the ground, the ceiling being reduced to crumbs and fiberglass around them all.

Danny grasped Sam by the shoulders, making them both intangible, and prayed it would work this time.

* * *

After the dust cleared, the Dragon had taken to the skies once _again_ \- the ninja was _gone again_. And Danny- ugh, Danny was about three seconds away from collapsing in a heap of exhausted bones and essay dread. The fog from the debris provided enough cover to allow Danny to switch back, unnoticed. In all the commotion, someone did call an ambulance.

Despite the total destruction of the Nasty Burger, only two people were injured.

Randall Cunningham: broken ankle, concussion, cracked ribs

And Dashell Baxter: Broken nose.


	4. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take this time to acknowledge the kudos and lovely people following along! Thank you all very much for your support, I'm genuinely humbled. 
> 
> I'm also taking this time to address wherein each timeline this story takes place, which I will figure out how to add to the tagging system soon:
> 
> ADJL: post-season 2
> 
> DP: post-season 2, post Reality Trip, pre-season 3
> 
> RC9N: post-Ninjception, pre-finale
> 
> Thanks ~Cosmo

"So you still wanna meet Invisobill, Randy?" Tucker inquired, walking with his nose stuffed in his PDA, running a reverse image search on the pictures he took of the dragon. The image turned out oddly blurry. Tucker in the photo was left perfectly intact. However, the dragon was out of focus as well as blocking its face. As if the photo was taken while the dragon was moving, though he couldn't. Tucker knew that the dragon didn't move while he took the selfie.

The inquest turned up similar images in the search engine. Blurs of red and black with the occasional fire burst. Though there was nothing identifiable within the frame. Most of these pictures could be found on the retired personal blog of someone calling themselves: Professor Hans Rottwood.

A rather unfortunate name, Tucker concluded.

He bookmarked the page for reference. There were long rambling passages following the undistinguishable pictures about various things, ranging from the readily acceptable paranormal possibilities like ghosts and aliens. The ideas of life outside of the human perspective. Ending with the utterly half-baked, Fairies, Leprechauns, and the jersey devil. Foley scrolled quietly through the mess, doubting he could decipher the nonsense from reason.

Randy lingered behind the group with his newly attained crutches, "You're not changing my mind."

Danny turned, walking backward to face Randy, "You were there when he dropped a building on you, right?"

"Technically, he just stuck a dragon through the ceiling; the ninja was the one who brought the building down."

"Yeah, the ninja…" Danny trailed off; this was the second time that Norrisville just took off from a fight, "What's his problem? You'd think he'd have a hobby or something."

Sam remarked, "Something age-appropriate for an eight hundred-year-old- like canasta."

"Honestly, the ninja would pull that kind of stuff all the time." Randy swung forward on his crutches, landing next to Danny, wincing as the weight came down on his leg, "He's kind of an idiot."

"Hey, watch it, Cunningham, we wanna send you back in one piece," Fenton propped a hand on the taller boy's chest, trying to keep him from eating the sidewalk.

Cunningham adjusted, "Bro, I've been in a million pieces and glued back together before. I'll be totally bruce-ing it up in no time at all."

"Just hope your pain pills kick in soon," Sam Sighed.

Hurriedly Randy limped to Sam, like a gait that could only be described as a busted-crab. He waggled his eyebrows towards her," So, when were you gonna tell me that you were dating Inviso, huh?"

If she was a lesser person, she would've hit him- but since he was already down a leg and probably functioning at a quarter instead of the half brain he normally had- it would've been mean. Fighting a blush on her cheeks, "You wanna see how fast your mouth runs with only one crutch?"

"Okay, Okay, touchy-" Randy chuckled, backing away.

In amazement or shock, Danny still repeated, "That thing- That dragon was alive."

"What makes you say that? I read up on some of the ghost attacks before I signed up for the big switch week." Randy recalled the rather sensationalist travel articles- the ones with mostly pictures, "A dragon didn't seem that too outta keeping. I mean, didn't like a fourteenth-century knight attack once?"

Tucker offered, "Amity Park is host to a few recurring ghosts. It isn't like an ant infestation where we can just set a gas bomb off in the house and come back after. Danny usually b-" he snapped his teeth on his cheeks to refrain from speaking.

Danny's lips folded inward and regarded Cunningham with his eyes- just to reinforce that he should zip it.

"I mean the- Invisobill… beats them all. The same ghosts usually get out. They all usually come out of the same place."

Randy shrugged, "People die all the time; how come there can't be new ghosts?"

"That's morbid, dude."

"I'm just saying," Cunningham defended his view.

Fiddling with his glasses, Foley assured, "I'm not saying that there can't be any new ghosts, but they're just… rare."

"Tucker's right, but it still has nothing to do with the fact that the dragon was alive," Sam said, leading the pack to her townhouse.

Randy adjusted his backpack," Not to sound like a busted record but wh-Wha-Wha-W—"

Danny playfully punched Randy in the shoulder. He made a scratch noise, "What makes you say that, our shining ray of sunlight?"

So easy, to just kick him over and watch him flounder, she thought.

Sam rolled her eyes, "Ghosts have certain abilities. They can phase through objects. If that dragon couldn't phase through the ceiling, then it wasn't a ghost. Da- Da-finitely Invisobill knew that, and that's why he cleverly got him submerged into the ceiling."

"Could be that the dragon was a ghost, and he was slow on the uptake?" Randy asserted, smirking to himself.

Sam replied with a smile before punching in a key code and trotting off behind the ornate gold fence to her home, "At least you'd have that in common with him."

"Hey," Randy said with a pout.

"She doesn't mean it," Danny popped a few colorful mcfizzies into his mouth," At least I don't think."

"So like… do I just need to be hot to be a part of the ghost club or what? Because I can get some fishnets and eyeliner," Randy gestured to Sam's house with his head, still holding a look of contempt on his face. She didn't seem like she was kidding. He couldn't fathom why a dynamic duo like Tucker and Danny would bother with someone who sounded like she'd rather be doing anything else. She seemed wary of Randy. Wary like somehow Randy needed to prove himself. It wasn't like he was especially popular with girls back home, but there was something about this brush off that seemed insulting. Randy had thick skin, at least that's what he told himself.

He fumbled with his hoodie strings, "You guys, like, clearly don't have anything in common. Does she only hang around for ghost benefits?"

Danny shook his head, embarrassed by the suggestion, "It isn't like that. I'm telling you. Sam's just-"

"Pretentious?" Tucker teased.

Fenton threw a piece of candy at his friend. Sam would skin him alive if she found out they were flanderizing her. Danny didn't want to admit that Tucker was right. Sam had a talent for making other people feel small. Though he was Whenever she tuned out while he talked about astronomy, he thought about how well she would pay attention if he was in ghost mode. It was a chip- a insecurity he thought he had mended. Danny was insulted on behalf of her, yes. But he found the notion of her only sticking around out of obligation was closer to the truth than he wanted it to be.

"She helps keep things interesting. She has great taste in music. Sam helps to get me and Tucker out of the house." Danny argued, "Without her, we would be wasting away just- playing video games!"

That appeared to have stuck something within Randy. He rolled his shoulder as if attempting to relax; he shrank, "More interesting than living in a town full of ghosts?"

Tapping away on his PDA, Tucker spoke out of the side of his mouth, "Tourist."

"When in Rome, Tuck, when in Rome," Cunningham hobbled along. He couldn't help but be befuddled by the laissez-faire attitude the kids of Amity Park had. At least Norrisville made a big deal about monsters. The citizens took the decimation of their burger shack the same way someone would walk off, breaking a plate. By the time the police left, the people had already gone home. It felt like exhausted people running through a rehearsed production. Randy exclaimed with tired awe, " I can't- I absolutely can't believe you guys are bored of ghosts,"

He snickered, "I cannot believe you guys tried to say you hate Invisobill."

"If you meet my parents, you'll know why," Danny said with a bit of an exasperated smile that made his eyebrows raise but kept his face soft. Like he was reminiscing on a rollercoaster at the fair, he dreaded more than anything.

The evening had finally settled in. Lights in house windows flickered on; curtains became drawn to keep the heat in. The streetlights came to life unceremoniously as they do in all neighborhoods. Time, despite not feeling like it was passing, was. Cruelly so. The conversation met its inevitable conclusion. Though perhaps 'conclusion' wasn't apt. It wasn't simply a matter of running out of things to talk about. There wasn't awkwardness bleeding through as if penned by a marker. No conversation was truly over, at least as long as there were people around to talk the subject in all manner of directions.

Clouds hung low in a thick fog around the rooftops. The moon was a sliver in the sky miles and miles away from the group. It was a kind of night that felt like so far away looking back on it. Like they were at a distance from the world. Like they didn't occupy the same space anymore. A space that could only be for them. It was innately human.

No, it wasn't a conclusion. It was three people who were comfortable enough to not get the last word. However, that didn't stop them from trying. Kicking cans and talking as if they had known each other their whole lives. Life endangering experiences have a way of making people closer. Laughing in the face of absurdity. Facing life's obstacles, a bitter 'okay, fine.'

Though, they had their obvious adverse effects too…

Randy couldn't have been a stranger because he never felt more at home. A home that he would ultimately abandon as soon as his job was done. Despite the injury and having to work on vacation, Randy was reluctant to say he was having a good time. He couldn't help but think that it would be better with Howard. No matter how out of place he felt in Norrisville, being next to his best friend was good enough. He finally felt like enough standing with Howard.

Tucker volunteered to escort Randy back to the hotel the Norrisville kids were residing at. Still, Cunningham insisted that he didn't need to go anywhere so soon, as he had already missed curfew. So what was a few more hours?

Eventually, after so many beats from the crutches and turns- The three found themselves at Danny's home.

It was a huge brick building- as if it was originally intended for apartments, given the fire escapes at certain windows, with the startling addition of a metal annex on the roof. It at first appeared like a UFO. An intimidating chrome observatory on the roof of what was an ordinary brick house. A small yard full of machine parts, oil puddles, and a patchy ill yellowing lawn.

Towering above them was a green neon sign with an orange arrow, reading 'Fentonworks.'

"Heh, look, it's you," Randy nudged Danny with his elbow.

"I am aware."

Tucker went ahead and answered a question that hadn't been asked, "Danny's folks are inventors. Ghost traps, stuff like that."

"Wow," Randy scanned the building again as if he hadn't soaked it in already," They must make a lot of green then?"

"Ha, not even the slightest," Danny said; he laughed but had no hint of humor in his eyes. He marched up the porch steps, almost letting on how tired he was from the three tough battles and all the uncertainty that the day had created.

He jiggled the handle, only to realize his dad must've locked the door since going into the lab. Fenton produced the spare house key from under the mat. Danny gestured for the two on the sidewalk to turn around, "Do not share this with anyone- ignore the mat!"

As the key fumbled with the others on the spare ring-

The door opened wide, letting out a nearly pure white fluorescent light. As if they were being pulled from the dream-like hazy night by their hair. They hissed and shielded their eyes.

"Danny! There you are! Are you okay?! Did you see the Tv?!" a sharp feminine voice phrasing an innocuous question like a demand.

"Mom, mom, mother! I'm alright." He repeated over and over again, "I'm alright."

"I don't want you out of my sight or near another fast food burger again!" She grasped her son by the shoulders, shaking him up," Do you hear me, young man!?"

Randy leaned to Tucker," Does she do this every time?"

"Almost, yeah."


	5. Bus Stop Confessional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where shit starts getting angsty and complicated. REALLY COMPLICATED. Forgive me for reading too deeply. While Randy does express some true feelings here, (or the very least feelings I imagine he must feel lmao) the motivation behind it is less than.

"It's wonderful that you managed to find a new friend Danny! What did you say your name was?"

"Mom," Danny groaned in discomfort. He had found the end of his rope on the couch. As much as he enjoyed the company of his friends, he was perfectly willing to let them go to spare them the smothering that would last a century.

Loitering in the entry was Randy glanced up a wall of family portraits. Mouth open and studying them closely. Almost automatically, he introduced, "Randall Cunningham, but everyone calls me Randy."

Danny involuntarily chuckled at Randy's ability to just morph naturally from situation to situation. He was impressed with how flexible Randy could be, despite that he was one of those friends he kept at school. Strictly at school. Adults of Amity Park tended to respond negatively to people who went against the grain. Randy certainly didn't act like anyone he ever met. Spontaneous to the point of recklessness, cocky, and blunt was a combination most adults tried to grow out of their children. However, he seemed to be doing just fine. Almost respectable.

"Wow, Mrs. Fenton— is this bombshell in the picture you?"

Okay, maybe he laid the flattery on a little thick.

Maddie adjusted her goggles. Upon recognizing the photo, she agreed with modesty, "Why, thank you, Randy! ... and yes, that was me once upon a time."

Cunningham pointed to another person in the picture, "Who's this guy?"

"Oh, that's Jack, my husband," Mrs. Fenton explained.

"And this guy?" Randy's finger moved from one face to another.

"That's Vlad Masters."

"Vlad Masters," Randy repeated under his breath.

Seeing Randy's eyes open like the name should mean something to him. He studied the photo without another word. That's what shut him up, Danny thought. For the first time all day, Randy didn't have a comment to share. He silently resigned himself to the pictures.

"Yeah, he's like if Steve Jobs had a super handsome cousin who did nothing but aspires to own the Packers," Tucker dismissed the photo.

Danny added for extra measure, "Total creep show."

Without much argument Mrs. Fenton folded her hands together, "He's also Danny's Uncle."

"Neat," Randy hobbled away from the wall, settled with his snooping. He plopped himself in the recliner, getting comfortable. The EMT did say that he should keep his foot elevated. Randy found the lever to the chair, flipping it casually.

"WAIT, RANDY—!"

Randy paused in, reaching for the plate of cookies on the coffee table, "What?"

A siren adorning the top of the basement door began to bleat and bathe the living room in blue light. Dense footsteps came clamoring up the stairs, slamming the door open a man in an orange jumpsuit pointed a chrome device directly at Randy.

The man bellowed out, "The goldie-locks alarm was triggered! Who's sitting in my chair?!"

Maddie sighed and crossed her arms, "Jack, you had the time to install a goldie-locks alarm but didn't fix the doorbell?"

"The question still stands, Maddie. Who is this strange boy?"

Mrs. Fenton walked up to the side of the recliner pressing Randy's head into the side of her hip and petting his hair, "Well, Jack, if you bothered to go to the PTA meetings once in a while. You'd know that this boy is an exchange student."

Cunningham looked to Danny for help, but Danny was busy rubbing his temples in frustration.

Then in the thickest Midwest accent imaginable, Jack began his introduction again, "How about that- ! Gomen' Nassai bucko," he continued while over pronouncing, "Welcome to our country."

Randy offered a surrendering wave, "Uh thanks, I'm from Norrisville."

"Can one of you shut that alarm off?!" Tucker yelled over the siren, which was still letting out a monotone and robotic whine every two to five seconds.

Danny removed his aching body from the embrace of his couch and ducked into the hallway, briefly opening up a circuit breaker. With a lasting drawn-out sigh the whole time, the sharp click of the circuit knobs were snapped off.

Tucker sighed, "Thank you."

Adjusting the plate, Maddie grabbed Tucker a cookie. Always the smothering mother, she asked, "You boys are more than welcome to spend the night. After all, you've been through; I just don't think it's safe for you kids to be out this late."

"I should be heading back to the hotel soon, actually," Randy was itching to return to his laptop and update his handler with information… as well as waste the night away with video games with Howard.

He shrugged, "I was supposed to check in with my science teacher, but Danny was showing me the sights." Randy pointed knowingly as if he was still in the company of friends, "Right dude?"

"Danny!"

Groaning with his face in his hands, attempting to get an early jump on his shut-eye. He knew Randy wouldn't last long. Danny pretended to know not what she was angry with, "Yes, mom?"

"I don't want to hear about you getting in trouble tomorrow, young man."

Randy realized what he said or, more accurately, who he said it in front of— then corrected, "Oh no ma'am, it was all me, I won't even mention it when I get back to the hotel."

Sidling over to the table, Mr. Fenton began to siphon the baked goods from the plate, "Honesty is the best policy. However, We don't appreciate snitches in this house."

"Jack!"

"What?!" Danny's father spoke with his mouth full, "You've met our son. He needs all the allies he can get."

Mumbling through his hand shield, Danny was astonished that he managed to make it this long, "Thanks for the shining endorsement, Pop."

Feeling the need to speak up- to clarify- to help at all, Randy noticed the tv had been on the news. Showing the highlights of the fight downtown. The phantom grappling the dragon— busting out some pro wrestling type maneuvers. Randy acknowledged the distraction, "Hey, Look, it's that ghost dude! Invisobill!"

That didn't seem to ease the tension.

In fact, that was the equivalent of launching an atom bomb on a scraped knee.

Danny shot Randy a look.

Tucker shot the same look.

'Oh no, he did not.'

A dry chuckle seemed to ignite the static silence, "Please tell me you have enough common sense not to follow the crowd and lap at the Koolaid fountain the rest of the town have immortalized in the image of that smug ghost punk?"

Mr. Fenton wielded his words with surprisingly sharp articulation for a man who made an alarm for when someone sat in his recliner. It was genuinely chilling, as Mr. Fenton was a gigantic ape of a man. Both parts brain and brawn— just no common sense to be measured.

Sheepishly Randy revealed, "He saved my life."

Rolling his eyes, Jack refused, "No, son, paramedics save lives. This ghost only endangers it— they all do. It's something obviously it has no control over—"

Danny's face sunk at this response.

"Ghosts attract other ghosts, whether it's a pheromone or energy they admit… Ghosts are so fundamentally lonely that they do anything to lure us in. It's the nature of death. It seeks out indiscriminately."

Despite the dourness of the subject, Mr. Fenton seemed to speak with educated confidence. He strolled over to his bookshelf, retrieving a rather large— large enough to be considered nonfiction— book," here's my paper I wrote in college."

"I mean, I feel like that's a lot of paper, bound together, in a boooooooooooo—"

Jack dropped the dense text onto Randy's chest, which knocked the wind out of him.

"Dad!" Danny rose," He's got cracked ribs—"

"Don't forget the concussion," Tucker added while kneeling to Randy's side.

"Explains the nonsense he's spouting."

Danny pushes his dad in the center of his chest," Dad, seriously! Just because— just because someone has a different— perspective that doesn't mean—!"

Suddenly Danny's fists were clenched, and his eyes flashed?

Did Randy see that right? Did his eyes just change color? It was like they were the epicenter of a supernova— they glowed with an unnatural brightness, for a second at most.

"Uh— hey- It's been a trip, Fentons, but I gotta go." Randy stood up, stuffing the book in his bag,

Shrugging, he offered,"- and now I can read up... yknow for my report about Amity Park."

"No— Randy, it's okay you can stay," Maddie comforted.

Danny shouted above them all, "He should go. Because clearly Dad can handle people as well as he can handle ghosts: he can't."

"That's it!"

Yanking on his sleeve Tucker hoisted Randy up, urging him out the door and away from the squabbling Fentons. Tucker shut the door on the way out, making sure not to slam it.

"Anddddd that's why we don't talk about Danny's folks that much," He said flatly. Suppose they were due for the weekly fight, predictably unpredictable like the weather.

"They're scientists," Randy was confused, "Shouldn't they be popping champagne every night for proving the afterlife?"

"No, no—" Tucker blinked; there was so much wrong with that take. Foley wasn't sure where to begin to pick it apart. He shook his head, "Trust me; they think it's cool, only as an excuse to exercise their weapons, traps, and other devices."

Randy got to the bottom step without help; when Foley attempted to aid him, it just made Randy go faster. It had gotten a lot colder, a piercing gust of wind causing both of them to freeze in place. Randy shivered, "So? It sounds like they could be doing the right thing? Detaining ghosts, stopping them from causing damage?"

Tucker looked at him- that was an odd opinion for someone to have for someone who wanted to meet one of the 'worst' ghosts.

Correcting himself, Randy shook his head, "I mean- from their perspective- they must think they're doing the right thing. Though- They are kind of intense about it."

From inside, they could hear Jack screaming, followed by another alarm going off, "-MOLECULE BY MOLECULE! MARK MY WORDS, GHOST PUNK!"

"Really intense," Randy surmised, "Passionate, even..."

Tucker led the way to the bus stop around the corner, "There's a lot of reasons why they're like that."

"Why they're… totally not scary?"

"We pretend that we hate ghosts, I'll admit that much." Tucker only did so since Randy had figured that out on his own. He defended, "But we only pretend that we do so Danny's parents to flip out. If they found out we were friends with Invisobill, they'd uh… torture him?"

Cunningham fidgeted, "That's kind of… brutal."

Tucker explained, "They weren't always so aggressive. I think over the years, they just got so obsessed with every failure that the sight of success within reach made them angry?"

"That's putting it mildly."

"See, in the early days, the Fentons were the first ones to propose a ghost dimension theory. The idea that ghosts come from a reflected reality of earth. They were shrugged off, of course, then one of their experiments gave this barely treatable disease to Vlad— then the Fentons lost funding, called quacks, disbarred, the whole thing. This isn't just about them being right; they have to earn it." Tucker spoke about it in a hushed voice in case somehow any of the Fentons heard him.

Quirking a brow in response, Randy wasn't exactly an A science student, so an alternate dimension was a hard sell. It was a headache. Randy found himself holding the knot all the threads made instead of seeing what they connected to. Surely despite not being human, the ghosts must have had some humanity? Any sense of morals? Was that what made the Phantom different?

The two found themselves at the bus stop, the last bus wasn't coming for another half an hour, but it was better to be in the air of the crisp night versus a warm house with a warring family. Randy couldn't relate to that. For the most part, his parents dismissed the ninja as a normal happening and went about their day. They were often so busy Randy hardly saw them as is to get their opinion on such things. He knew it was wrong, but he yearned for something like what Danny had— so at least he'd have something to talk about with his folks.

"So if it's a ghost dimension," Randy led in, "shouldn't it be a die-mension?"

"Dude," Tucker pinched his tear ducts, "Alright, that's enough tourist talk, and ancient history, tell me about the ninja."

Straightening his posture, Randy coyly queried, "The ninja…. The ninja... the Norrisville Ninja?"

"No, the Broadway Ninja— yes, the Norrisville Ninja!"

It was quiet for a moment. Randy hadn't shot back with one of his seemingly endless responses or deflections about it. He stared at a storm drain," Uh… heh… I don't really like talking about it."

"I think it's the least you could do," Foley bristled, "I answered your questions. You answer mine, that's only fair."

Cunningham stared at Tucker, deliberating internally. Narrowing his eyes, he stared in askance. Softly he began, "For centuries, the ninja has protected Norrisville, all of it. The whole thing. We get these monsters, I want to say they're oni in origin, but I don't know. What no one wants to talk about is that these monsters are born from ego death."

"Ego death?" Tucker asked, leaning in.

Randy rubbed his forehead, "Ugh, it's like… it's like… the unspoken rage and resentment in the hearts of man, the destruction of a person's identity. The monsters are people."

Tucker sat down. He took a breath, "So… the ninja has to destroy the people he has to protect?"

"No, not quite, the ninja has to destroy their 'fetish'—"

"Hey whoa—"

Leaning against the glass booth, Randy chuckled, "Not like that. I mean it from the purely historical— archaeological sense; the ninja has to destroy the monster's most treasured possession or their object they worship. The soul of the person— their identity is trapped in that object. The only way to destroy the monster is to release the soul to reclaim the body."

"Wow."

"Yeah, it's a thing," Randy shifted with the breeze cutting through him again, "The people most at risk to become monsters are just people who can't control their emotions-"

"...teenagers." Foley cut him off.

"Yeah." Randy nodded sullenly, "They're more susceptible to Ego Death."

He shrugged, "So instead of teaching everyone while they're still young how to control their emotions, conflict resolution— counseling— so on, they just rely on the Ninja to clean up the mess."

It wasn't common knowledge, the process of how the sausage was made. It was people traumatizing each other over the pettiest and trivial things. Only the ninja, the sorcerer, and Howard knew that much, though. It felt good to talk to someone else about it. However, seeing Tucker's expression twist, Randy regretted mentioning it.

"It's created this weird culture." He laughed despite not finding it humorous, "you have kids having gold star clubs— never turned monster. Y'know? It's— it's messed up. Like it's something that everyone is supposed to go through. Having their body removed from their control and— and—"

"Anddddddd that's why you don't talk about the ninja." Tucker looked at how distant Cunningham had become, "… have you ever…?"

"If I could remember, I would tell you," He adjusted his bag now heavy with the weight of two larges tomes that he barely had the attention span for, "Considering the exact same amount of people avoid me, I don't think I turned."

... Remembering the incident with Desiree- and then the incident with Hotep Ra- Tucker found himself carving a space in that narrative. An ignored outsider. A monster. Someone frantic for attention good or bad. To bend an ear until it snaps. More often than not Tucker despite being in a room full of friends felt alien. Like he took up too much space without purpose. As if he had to justify his existence to others. That was the immaturity in him of course, Tucker knew he was loved. He figured everyone felt like that every once in a while. This further cemented how horrifying the idea of turning into a rampaging monster when those superficial feelings of loneliness came creeping around. It wasn't enough that teenagers already acted like monsters, but to become one? To become so viscerally unrecognizable? 

"It just- really pisses me off, yknow?" Randy admitted before sinking down on the bench next to Tucker. He began to bounce his uninjured leg restlessly, "That's why I want to meet the ghost dude so bad."

"Because he pisses you off?"

"No- I just, I wonder how he copes with… " Randy bit his lip, "How he copes with being different. I thought if I could talk to someone who is a monster. I could maybe… not become one? If I knew what it took to… to keep myself- me. I know that doesn't make any sense, but I just thought he would get it. I-I mean, he seems like a lonely guy. If he's befriending humans… _why not me?_ And like- he saved my life, I have to thank him for that."

Awkwardly Tucker rubbed his own arm. Rolling his sleeves down, he offered, "... I think that if you want to talk to him or something, I can maybe-"

Without warning, Randy threw his arms around Foley into a tight hug his voice was wavering and fluttering," Thank you so much, Tuck! You have no idea how much this means to me."

"It-it's not a guarantee, okay? He's a very busy guy!"

Lips parting, Randy broke into a large smirk.


	6. Future Proof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally got to Jake's introduction, I will admit out of the shows my ranking always goes RC9N, DP, then AD:JL. I'm sorry for more experienced Jake Fans, I do love him and plan to flesh him out with the rest of the cast. I based Jake and Fu on some humorous interactions I've had with my own dad and dog. Since Fu and Jake are both from NYC I figured they would be a little ruder than the others in our roster. On that note I felt like it was a missed opportunity that Jake in the show was never shown as bilingual- so I did my best with my research and concluded that the Longs probably speak mandarin and some thai.
> 
> For reference what Jake is saying isn't actually that bad- but there isn't exactly an English equivalent, a pretty common insult in mandarin is to call someone an "egg" since they typically smell bad. The more you know. ~Cosmo

Sneaking back into the hotel wasn't exactly smooth sailing turns out Mrs Driscoll, and of course, Mr Driscoll was waiting with her.

Mrs Driscoll was perhaps the easiest on Randy. Having no children of her own, she often thought of her students as being her family. "Mr Driscoll" had a more firm yet boney hand, with a strict approach. So while Mr Driscoll was busy laying it on— ranting and raving stacking on disciplinary actions— Mrs D sweetly recalled her own wild highschool tales.

The pair then went on reminiscing until they dismissed Randy entirely. He swiped his hotel card, contemplating exactly what kind of trouble he was in. Mrs Driscoll trouble or Mr Driscoll trouble. Hopefully, Mrs D wouldn't remember until the end of the trip.

Randy entered the cool dark room, popping his neck. Hotel sweet hotel. It was a smaller room he was supposed to be sharing with Julian, but Julian apparently slept in a coffin, which he brought from home. Cunningham wasn't exactly sure what to expect from Julian, though his first bet was that Julian would sleep on the balcony like some kind of gargoyle.

Suppose it made it easier to do his nightly exercises. Randy was never athletic but being the sole protector of Norrisville has a way of turning your stomach from a six flab to a meat grinder. Randy glanced at the door frame to the bathroom. He let go of his ribs. Resting his crutch against the door handle socket, Cunningham launched himself from the ground to the door frame. Several vertebrae crackled with the sudden stretch. It burned as his bones were being spread even further apart, splitting and splintering—

He pumped his arms, pulling his chin above the frame. With a gasp, Randy dropped— exhaling.

"Still got it," the ninja declared triumphantly despite the ache reverberating through to his spine.

Okay, so maybe he'll skip the twenty reps in favor of a cold shower and pain pill-induced sleep. Though first— he found his laptop and slid into the cushy pristine hotel bed.

_Randy-man-Candy: hey Howard_

_Graveyard-party-punch: dude, where have you been? You've been NNS for like 6 hours! And seriously, you're lucky I have all forms of IMs. Otherwise, this relationship would be strained._

_Randy-man-Candy: I know I know you're a tech genius, but I had a good reason, and I wasn't a total NNS— it was mostly AFK, the last ten percent was NNS._

_Graveyard-party-punch: okay, but seriously what the JUICE?_

_Randy-man-Candy: what? I had to do something. It's this long story. I'll tell you over the phone tomorrow._

_Graveyard-party-punch: I've added Amity Park to my news updates, and so far, I've seen some wacky stuff about a dragon and ghost dude… but no ninja?_

_Randy-man-Candy: like I said, long story and I'm trying to keep a low profile._

_Graveyard-party-punch: I still don't even know how you managed to get good enough grades to make the field trip._

_Randy-man-Candy: I'm full of surprises Howard._

_Graveyard-party-punch: sure… eyeroll_

_Randy-man-Candy: sarcasm is unbecoming._

_Graveyard-party-punch: … so if you're getting good enough grades to go on the field trip, does that mean you might make the scholarship for Fisttech?_

_Randy sighed. He could hardly think about his choices for the hotel breakfast bar, let alone college._

_Randy-man-Candy: have your parents at least thought about community College?_

_Graveyard-party-punch: no. They really want me to join a legacy or some kind of bull crap._

_Randy-man-Candy: then I'm going to get the fisttech scholarship. We are going to stay together no matter what._

_Graveyard-party-punch: look, Randy, you don't have to. You're obviously gonna be too wiped with ninja work- you know, the actual work that saves people versus algebra or whatever._

_Randy-man-Candy: I dunno… is it going to be worth it if I don't remember any of it? I'll have flunked and not have anything to show for it._

_Graveyard-party-punch: I wish my parents actually listened to me when I said I don't want to go to college. I'll hate the idea even more being a business major with no friends._

_Randy-man-Candy: That won't happen, trust me- we're both going to freaking kings in college._

_Graveyard-party-punch: Have you picked your successor as the ninja yet?_

No. Of course, he hasn't. He had actually been dreading it. It wasn't like Randy was totally without wisdom to share with the ninjanomicon, but why would he subject some other first-year student to the utter confusion of navigating a double life? Maybe it wasn't noble- maybe it was selfish of him. Randy would much rather take on the burden of being the ninja for the rest of his life than give it away to someone who wasn't prepared for it at all. Randy had to make a lot of sacrifices to get this far; not seeing it through to the end wasn't an option.

_Randy-man-Candy: There are some candidates I can pursue._

He closed his laptop. Randy took in a breath. As soon as this job is complete, at least he won't have to worry about paying for a fancy education. He'll have enough money to buy an island, maybe two. Maybe he'd have enough to buy the Packers. Snickering to himself, Randy decided he was done smelling his own B.O and peeled himself out of bed.

* * *

Jake, on the other side of town, was filling an ice bucket. Hopefully, it would last the night to nurse his wounds and keep Fu's 'special drinks' cold. The motel was, thankfully, not busy. Jake took a moment to make sure the coast was clear- he wondered if Fu's trick could be used outside of the big apple. He hit the ice machine in a distinct pattern fluctuating in pressure. Ending the sequence by kicking the machine.

Quarters spilled out of the ice machine's slot and onto the floor.

"Hùnzhàng!" the noise of the coins hitting the ground made him jump, "I guess it works better in small towns."

Kneeling on the carpet, as he collected the coins, Jake felt a twinge in his deltoid, Maybe no more ceiling crashing for a bit. At the end of the hall, a door creaked open.

"Kid, you done with that ice? I wanna get blitzed watching the poker quarter finals!"

Jake rattled the coins in his sweatshirt, "ey- yeah dog, I'll be there in a sec, I'm gonna cop some chips- Since SOMEONE tore out the minibar."

"Hardly a minibar if they charge you nine dollars for some almonds!" Fu sounded like he was tossing something on the ground in the room.

Muttering to himself, Jake rose, "Some people abuse their animals, some people get abused by their animals."

Fu poked his wrinkly face out of the doorway, "Are you sassin' me out there?"

"I'm aching out here, boss," Jake placed the rapidly chilling bucket against his hip, "and you want ice for your sauce! Yes, I'm sassin' you!"

"I would love to help, but in case you forgot-" He whistled, standing bi-pedal," I'm eighty-nine pounds of pure hound." Fu then barked a request, "Front me some funyuns, and I'll get you back later, aight?"

"Yeah, Yeah, That's six you owe me, Dog." Jake scowled, "bèn dàn…"

"I get it you're hurting, and away but I don't want to hear your trash barge mouth!" Fu gripped the door, "God, I regret teaching you only swears."

Jake gave the 'up yours' gesture despite the immense pain it caused him; his sense of humor was stronger.

Fu flared his nostrils," You're so lucky I don't rat you out to your grandpa."

"Hey, at least I didn't break his classic teapot from 4 generations ago!" Jake snapped, "You were there when it was being sculpted on the wheel, for heaven's sake."

"It was ugly, and you know it! Now go get daddy some funyuns!"

"Ugh!" Jake groaned, inching to the stairs, "Fine!"

He turned- to see a rather wobbly man in a suit, returning from his happy hour. He stumbled toward Jake. He felt his own age at that moment, despite having traveled on a red-eye flight to legitimately the middle of freakin' nowhere with only one skatepark and hardly any worthy bodega insight. Fought countless monsters. He managed to figure out how to rent a room by himself. But still hesitated when handling drunks. Adults still towered over him. Jake realized that this guy just witnessed him talking to his dog rather rudely- which was something he considered routine and normal.

Fu quickly landed on all fours and began barking heartily at the stranger like how a regular dog would.

Faltering for an excuse, Jake chuckled awkwardly," Don't you ever converse with your dog in a different voice like they're a person…?"

Wobbling away, the man gave Jake a strange glance and moved on. Once the man walked back into his own room, Fu coughed, "Gugh- I hate doing that. Look, kid, hurry up and don't melt the ice, and after the poker match, we can call up gramps and go over the game-plan, an' stop swearin'."

"Yeah, Yeah- That's still six you own me." Long trotted down the stairs to the vending machine.

The motel wasn't like an overpopulated place in the city, though obviously it's seen better days. The fluorescents on the ground floor seemed to flicker.

Jake looked out to the courtyard and the dried fountain. Amity Park more likely had a hard time keeping the tourists once they checked in. Ghost tours being your main outlet as well as your biggest pest, seemed to contradict any business model. Jake also noted the yellowed grass. Perhaps ghosts weren't only dead things around. The flower boxes didn't appear any better off. However, one flower at the very end of the line towards the main office has some fight left in it.

Jake turned the corner to the vending corner. The laundromat appeared to be out of order entirely. Chains clad the door, and a sign recommending the launderama a couple of blocks further into town shifted with the breeze. Some vandal had scratched the sign, "beware!"

Now, what on earth could be so dangerous about a couple of broken dryers? Jake imagined a fire spawned by excess lint in the ducts. Maybe he did pay attention when his father spoke. Something about liabilities and assets-?

Jake plopped his quarters into the machine. Funyuns… He quickly punched in the code B8. The coil crawled toward the opening. God, was this day going to ever end? Impatiently the dragon jostled the ice bucket. Either everything was faster than him, or he had to adjust to the speed on par with-

The lights suddenly cut. Only the glow of the vending machine remained. Jake slapped the side of the office, "Ey- You gotta pay your bills, bro! Gah-"

The vending machine coil stopped abruptly, as the machine lost power as well. Getting further irritated, Long kicked the machine, "Are you kidding me right now? Does nothing work in this place?"

Percussive maintenance was a no-go. As Jake continued to rough up the machine, the chips only tipped further back into the mechanism.

Then the dripping started.

Jake didn't dare to turn around. The fountain slowly worked up past a trickle and sprayed with full pressure. He felt the warm droplets glide onto his scalp, trailing down his neck.

Swiping at quickly, he pulled back a red-stained palm. He silently prayed that it was just rust-colored water-

"Okay, screw the funyuns, this is whack-" He mumbled to himself. It wasn't a habit he was fond of but seeing as he was rarely alone when he faced threats having someone to talk to was comforting. He seethed, "I'm so out of here."

He spun on his heel, hoping whatever he felt was just wobbles from upstairs- Jake turned to see a portly man in overalls… a blue bloodless face-

"OoOOoOO! BEWARE!"

Jake startled, surprisingly keeping a good grasp on the bucket handle- Flames tangled around his opposite hand, exposing his dragon claws.

"I'm the BOX GH-"

Efficiently and cruelly, Jake clasped a hold on the specter's neck. He shook the ghost in his claws. Slightly spooked but still frightfully out of this ghost's pay grade, "T-th-this isn't your night, chief. I'm not in the mood, dawg."


	7. Splinters in the Veil: End of Act I

Despite squishing the tubby ghost's face, he still insisted on speaking,"PHHHHEAAAAAR MEH!"

"I'll admit you got me, you had me- that's on me." He poked the ghost's nose with his thumb claw, "But bro, you messed up, and you messed up bad."

The creature began to try and wiggle out of Jake's fist before raising his own hand, swiping it. Jake mocked, "Now that's adorable, you still think you can-"

The plant boxes squeaked as they were ripped from the ground. Floating menacingly behind the ghost-

"Okay, it's slightly less adorable now."

He dropped the ghost and ducked as the flower boxes broke the glass of the vending machine. Jake set down the ice bucket. Still wanting to avoid a full transformation if he could help it. He felt heat spill from his ears and down his spine, forming his tail from fire. It's still a fight he could feasibly win with twenty/twenty-five percent maximum power.

His grandpa would be disappointed that he was lowballing the enemy. Though with Jake's already bruised ego, he had little doubt that he would lose. It wasn't that he was sore about it-

Well, technically, he was physically sore about losing to Invisobill. At least with the first fight, Jake had him on the ropes. Unfortunately, when Long tried to find a mirror to secure the ghost in, Bill seemed to have gotten up and wandered away. Fu didn't bless the mirror anyway, so it would've been an uphill struggle regardless. Same antics, different time zone.

Which prompted Jake to take a less methodical approach in the rematch. By less methodical, the American dragon decided to become fully unhinged and go Godzilla on the town. He let his frustration get the better of him. Arrogance clouded his mind. His Grandfather had trusted him with this mission by himself. Perhaps it was out of the need to get Jake moving again. After Rose, Jake was nothing short of obliterated. He found human school to be a chore without her.

Jake was idle, aimless, and in mourning for a relationship that was never real. Trixie and Spud were sympathetic as always. Almost enabling. If Trixie texted something about going to the skatepark, all he had to say was, 'I can't.'

_'Considered it dropped, Jakey, you want to watch another Bruce Lee film? Me and Spud could come over… lip-sync to Aisha music videos? Make brownies?'_

He found it difficult for his friends to see him wallowing. It was hard for his family to see him suffering. The task was to get him back into the world, or at the very least to give the retired goo-goo doll's track a break.

Ghosts in New York were considerably weaker, in addition to being older than dirt. Amity Park did have that over the big apple.

Jake was crouched and lowered his chest to the ground, growling.

"I AM THE BOX GHOST," the ghoul wailed, "I REIGN DOMINION OVER ALL THAT IS SQUARE."

"Boxes? Really? That's what does it for you?" Jake using his tail as a whip, began to lash at the Box ghost. Box managed to block the first few swipes, so Jake began to speed up and randomize his pattern. Grabbing his Tail, the Box ghost threw the dragon against the laundry room door. The door fell through as if the hinges didn't even exist.

The laundry room was only one in the loosest stretch of the word. A single washer and dryer in a glorified broom closet. Jake felt his skull rattle against the metal of the machines. He shook out the pain, "Okay- aight-okay- box ghost- okay-"

The ghost loomed over the dragon; with a wave of his hand, the ghost took control of the dryer and washer. Those were cubes, Jake thought, as his back lost support. He promptly rolled into the shadow of the room. The lights were flickering, becoming brighter than they had ever intended to be. It was nearly blinding. Box Ghost began to pound the machines on the cheaply tiled floor. When the specter raised both arms above his head, the machines followed suit. Jake seized the opportunity, blowing fire and smoke directly in the ghost's line of sight. He then jumped through the flame, tackling the ghost to the ground and pinning him in place through the floor with his claws.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?! WHY CAN'T I PHASE THROUGH YOU-?"

Figures the ghosts out in the sticks didn't know a thing about other mythical creatures. Jake rolled his eyes, not bothering to explain. Instead, he wanted some answers, "Bro- if you don't stop thrashin', I'll give you something to haunt, okay?"

Jake slapped the ghost delivery guy across the face, "Focus up!"

The dragon attuned his ears to the motel courtyard as there was the sound of claws scraping the pavement. Jake felt the heat of his back scales spreading to his shoulder blade and his wings spawning in a defensive position.

"Jake? Jacob Luke Long?" Fu called, hitting the last step on the stairs, "What is the hold up with my-?"

"Fu!" the dragon screamed, "Will you forget 'bout your beer, forget your funyuns?! An' bring a dragon his blessed mirror?!"

Fu startled and quickly found the mess waiting on the ground floor of the motel. Now the nine dollar charge on non-assorted nuts felt silly. Fu produced a small compact mirror from his fat folds and ran into the laundry room. The shar-pei bounced from paw to paw as the tile was ice to the touch on account of the ghost lying on top of it.

"YOU CANNOT CONTAIN ME IN THE CONFINES OF A ROUND er- uh-! CONTAINER!" The spirit bellowed.

Fu stared at the pocket mirror, furrowing his brow, and stammering out phrases. However, none seemed to be sticking. Alarmed, he admitted, "I forgot how to say it!"

"Nǐ báicài shǎzi-!" Jake swore under his breath, trying to keep a tight grasp on the Box Ghost, "What do you mean you forgot?!"

"I forgot the incantation!" Fu whined, "I haven't been keeping up with my reading now that you stopped training and I forgot! What do I look like- a ghostbuster?!"

"Don't pin this on me, Dog!" Long spat, "You're like six-hundred years old; I thought you'd know the spell!"

"It's not a spell; it's an incantation!" Fu corrected. The dog hit his head with his hand and began snapping his claws, trying to remember.

"FU! DO I LOOK LIKE I'M IN THE MOOD TO PLAY SEMANTICS?!"

The box ghost groans, still trying to get his arms free, "CEASE YOUR ENDLESS BICKERING, FOR I, THE BOX GHOST, AM GROWING QUITE ANNOYED!"

"Will you shut it?!" "STAY OUT OF THIS!" The pair yelled in the spirit's face.

The dragon wracked his brain, closing his eyes trying to think, "What would gramps say- what would gramps-?"

Then it hit him, "It doesn't matter the exact words, right? As long as _we feel_ it?! As long as _we put power_ into what we say?!"

"Yes- Yes!" Fu clamored to agree, "that's the ticket, Jakey!"

"So, say how you feel!" Jake urged.

Brandishing the mirror, Fu yelped angrily and waded back into mandarin, "I Banish-h-hu-húndàn-! No, I- With this mirror, I- screw it! Bǎ zhège lán sè de sǐ húndàn fàng zài jìngzi lǐ!"

With a scream and a burst of blue and white light- the fluorescents above broke and sent sparks scattering to the ground, plunging the ground floor into darkness. Jake felt his knees hit the ground as the body he tackled had vanished. Wiping his forehead, the boy leaned back on his thighs, "That's five, you owe me, dog."

Exhausted, he held up his hand, "Five."

"I'll carry the ice back upstairs," Fu panted; he plucked the mirror from the ground. Now with the ghost trapped inside.

* * *

After a few minutes of catching their breath, Jake and Fu wandered back towards their motel room with a few guests poking their heads out of their doors to see what the noise was. Long speculated that they didn't have all night.

"Oh, we are going to be feelin' that tomorrow," Fu groaned.

Jake felt his fangs slowly retreating into his jaw and his scales shrinking, "What exactly are you feelin'? I was the one holding him down- I still have tile caulk under my nails."

"Sympathy pain," Fu quipped. The dog put his Miju and Xifengjiu into the bucket. Batting the ice around with his paw. He chuckled, "We both could use a drink."

"I'm good with just the ice- thanks," Jake said. The teen took a rag from the collection in the bathroom and wandered back to the main room to take a handful from the bucket. He held the ice to his shoulder, flopping onto the bed. He spoke through his pillow, "How long do you think we have before the cops show up?"

"Considering this is the cheapest motel I could find on short notice, and it's about thirty minutes out of town?" The shar-pei concluded, "Hours more than likely."

"Perfect," Jake grumbled. What he wanted now was to catch at least a few minutes of sleep. All the better because he always slept better when Fu watched tv. He wanted poker commentaries to narrate his dreamless sleep.

Fu hummed.

"What now?" Long protested.

The dog stretched out, letting his gut stick out as he cushioned his back on a pillow, "We should call Lao Shi."

"Gramps? And tell him what?" Jake propped himself on his un-injured elbow, "That we are ridic unprepared, and I got my butt spanked by a thing calling itself king of the cubes?"

"BOX GHOST!" The mirror on the nightstand argued.

"Shuddap!" Fu shut the compact. He turned to his ward, "Your grandfather knows we aren't miracle workers. I don't think he's expecting us to have results right away."

"Gee, thanks."

The shar-pei rolled his eyes, "What I'm trying to say, Amity Park is a tough town. A literal ghost town. It belongs to them." He emphasized, "It's our duty to keep the humans from poking their nose into somethin' that don't concern them."

"These ghosts aren't exactly going to play nice." Fu scratched his ears anxiously, "Most mythicals that walk in here don't walk out. Now that- that Invisobill making national headlines and attracting government attention the likes of Guys in White. We need to clean it up," Fu squinted, "Starting with that kid."

Jake got to the sitting up position, "I'm failing to see how this makes me feel better."

"Don't get discouraged, kiddo." Fu smiled wearily.

The compact mirror began to vibrate on the nightstand.

Fu rubbed his temples, "can you see what this clown wants? I don't think he's going to let us sleep otherwise."

Jake snatched up the mirror, "Aight- jack in the box, what is the issue?"

"INVISOBILL." The spirit announced, "HE VEXES ME AND MY-"

"Boxes?" The dragon cut him off.

"NO!" The Box Ghost said with irritation, "THAT HALFA HAS BEEN MAKING FOOLS OF US."

Edging forward, Jake began to listen intently, "Us?" He repeated, "Us? You're crystal on that?"

Fu chimed in, "Halfa?"

"THE HALFA IS TRAPPED BETWEEN THIS WORLD AND THE NEXT. THE GHOST ZONE. HE'S OUT TO UPSET THE BALANCE OF HOW THINGS ARE."

"Yeah, we know all that," Getting frustrated, Jake demanded, "do you have any useful information?"

"THERE IS A PORTAL," The Spirit elaborated, "A GATEWAY. THERE IN THE LIVING WORLD. I KNOW HE USES IT TO TRAVEL BACK AND FORTH."

"Just as much meddling from the human side," Fu snorted, "as per usual."

"Brother, if you don't get to the point tout suite, I'm dropping you in the crusty pool!" The dragon threatened as he stood up from his bed, invigorated with the hope for a new lead.

"THAT HALFA'S PORTAL IS ONE OF THE MAIN GATEWAYS TO THIS PLANE." He continued to beat his side of the glass, "WE CAN TRAVEL THROUGH BLACK MIRRORS, REFLECTIONS, AND SPLINTERS IN THE VEIL, BUT THAT PORTAL EXPEDITES THE PROCESS."

Another voice interjected into the one-sided interrogation, "If I could throw my hat into the ring for a moment?"

Jake spun on his heel to see the crystal ball sticking out of his backpack was emitting a white glow. He shut the compact mirror, then slid on his knees, grasping the orb. The orb he imagined would upset the 'box ghost.' The young dragon immediately perked up to see his mentor, "Gramps!"

"Hello, my pupil." He greeted cheerfully, "Tell me, how are you acclimating?"

Jake didn't want to lie, "Great."

He didn't want to, but that didn't affect his ability. When dealing with his Grandpa, Long's personal policy was what his teacher didn't know wouldn't kill him. Hopefully. Jake explained, "we've managed to detain a spirit, and we've brokered some- bare-bones information out of him."

"As I overheard," Lao Shi nodded, "I've spoken with a representative of Amity Park ghost community, at the elder Dragon's council. There were whisperings of you demolishing a burger joint downtown."

Jake knew somehow he would come around again karamatically.

In good humor, Grandpa asked, "All a part of the investigative process, I presume?"

"See… that was…" He fumbled for an excuse. Though Long knew his Grandfather would have heard it all before. Jake confessed, "I'm rusty, grandpa."

There was laughter. It sounded like the elder council had a recess.

"Yéyé, did you put me on speaker?" Jake narrowed his eyes at the crystal ball, mumbled.

He smiled sarcastically, "My mistake won't happen again. Please continue about how you caused several thousand dollars in property damage that will be investigated by government officials, or at the very least insurance agents."

Grandpa did have a sense of humor deep down. Jake had to believe that.

"It's nothing these bumpkins haven't seen before," the boy elaborated, "if their newspapers are to be believed. Seriously, they read like the national inquirer took speed and then asked mad libs for a dance."

"Ayah!" He tsked, "Amity Park is perhaps in more danger than we had initially thought."

"You're telling me," The younger dragon expressed, "Apparently, some nut jobs around here have a working ghost portal."

"Our informant has made us aware of multiple in the United States." Lao Shi said with apprehension, "Blips coming from Amity Park, and several locations in the midwest we're still trying to eliminate."

"Though what's interesting to note is there have been several patents filed for 'ghost hunting' technology originating from Amity Park."

Fu piped in, "Does any of it work?"

"From what we could gather," The blue dragon sighed, "The use of plasma energy is something we predicted to surpass the one-way mirror blessing and exorcism technique. As much as I love tradition, this tech theoretically produces faster results."

"I know how you love a good exorcism," Fu wagged his tail excitedly.

"Yes, quite." Lao shi combed his fingers through his beard, "The patents were registered to a company called 'Fentonworks.' founded in Amity Park."

"So, it sounds like we're gonna go Fentonworks take a gander at the artillery?" Jake smiled sheepishly.

His grandfather sounded hesitant, "Are you sure you can handle this? You will lose no respect here if you choose to be pulled out."

"No, Gramps, I need to do this. I haven't… I haven't felt this alive since…"

Rose.

"Since taking down the Huntsclan." The young dragon reiterated, "You can count on me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some clarification, I'm leaning into the idea that Rose, despite remembering who she was in the Huntsclan, still broke it off with him for his safety. So he's a semi-retired semi-washed-up teenage hero. Imagine having that knowledge at 14? Wild. Anyway, I want to thank you all for sticking with me all this time. I first fell in love with this idea in middle school, being a rambunctious RC9GN fan but never capitalized on it until my junior year of high school. I was going through something, aren't we all? I still want to thank you all for your criticisms and feedback. As of right now, I've edited the first three chapters with the critique and suggested edits and some more insight and characterization. I'm not totally confident in my American Dragon Portrayal, but that's what reviews are for. You guys keep me humble, haha. So, this is the end of act one. I hope that the second act will be around the same length as another interlude where the characters just talk.


	8. Who You Gonna Call?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, another brief note. I had always assumed that Jake was older than both Randy and Danny but I appeared to have mislabeled my notes. In canon, Jake is the youngest (not factoring in the original airing dates of the shows). Though I had already drafted Jake's arch and plotlines surrounding him being the oldest and being shown up by the younger heroes. I also feel like making him older would be more appropriate to give the character more maturity and growth. Granted, he doesn't really show that off except around the adults or those he wishes to impress. Jake and Jazz being the oldest siblings of their families could lead to an interesting dynamic along the road as well as Jake's knowledge and 'interest' in ghost hunting creating more tension between Danny and his parents. That being said I'm trying to do my best to leave some stuff unspoiled for you, but safe to say I'm excited. ~ Cosmo

_Friar-Tuck: Apparently, Randy has some sort of beef with the ninja, and he genuinely wanted to thank the phantom for saving his life. He seems like a good egg, and I can vouch for him. I think it would mean a lot to him._

_Danny-Boy: Good Egg or not, Tucker, the ninja is still out there. I need to lay low._

_Danny-Boy: Crap, not to mention that dragon. The dragon that can apparently see through the invisibility trick? Seriously? It's not like I had an easy time with Eudora. God, I need a break._

_Friar-Tuck: I figured it was a long shot. I'll just deflect if he asks again._

Fenton scratched his chest sleepily while waiting for his turn for the shower. He managed to sleep through the whole night for once. He couldn't decide if it was a good or bad thing yet. Sleeping-in usually meant waking up when he was supposed to. He leaned in his rolling-chair, staring at the clear blue sky through his small window. Danny wiped at the sleep sand forming in the corners of his eyes. What a beautiful day to stay inside and ditch, he thought. Unfortunately, he needed to conduct a search to see which unstable person wanted it out for him, this time.

_Friar-Tuck: So if the ninja is 800 years old. Could be a ghost?_

The phantom almost scoffed. Aside from the technique having an extremely practiced precision, Danny never got the impression that he was fighting someone that old. Granted, his only idea of what 'old' looked like was his English teacher, Lancer.

_Danny-Boy: Nah._

_Friar-Tuck: Really?_

_Danny-Boy: My ghost sense hasn't gone off once while fighting him, so he's flesh and blood._

_Friar-Tuck: Could be immortal? Or a vampire? Can you detect vampires?_

_Danny-Boy: Vampires don't exist._

_Friar-Tuck: Yet to be confirmed, Daniel._

Now he couldn't think of anything other than Mr Lancer in a black catsuit- which will haunt him permanently. Thanks, brain.

_Danny-Boy: Unrelated, what did you get on the poetry assignment?_

* * *

There was a knock at the front door of Fentonworks. Jazz was already on the way out the door, car keys in hand. Automatically she assumed it must've been the usual suspects. She called up the stairs, "Hey Danny! Your friends are here to walk with you-"

Since the kids knew her routine, she just expected to barrel through them like a one-woman army. However, when she pulled back the door, she nearly walked chest first into a stranger.

Jasmine halted, "Oh-! I'm sorry, can I help you? Are you here for tutoring?"

The short boy glanced her up and down, "Uh-hah- Well, I came to see the Fentons, but I could use a brush up on my chemistry." He ran a hand through his gelled hair.

In a hurry, she used her book as a writing surface and scribbled down, "Chemi-stry… Say isn't that a little advanced for middle schoolers?"

"I'm… I'm sixteen," The boy said somewhat dejectedly. Did she not understand that was a line?

Jazz scanned him up and down, "Really?"

Suppose he deserved that. The dog around his ankles made a strangled noise. Jazz stooped down, "Aww, what a cute puppy, what breed is he?"

"A nuisance-" The boy said under his breath.

"Hm?"

The boy cleared his throat and said succinctly, "A shar-pei."

"Aw, he's so wrinkly." She patted the dog's head. Jazz stood back up and brushed her hair behind her ear, "Anyway, I'm Jasmine Fenton; you can call me Jazz." She handed him a scrap of paper he couldn't' decipher, "Here's my number."

Pocketing it quickly, he bowed in acknowledgment, "Thank you."

A loud thud could be heard from inside behind the door. The older Fenton spared the stranger from looking at her brother, splayed out on the stairs. She reminded her brother again, "Danny put on your shoes _before_ coming down the stairs."

"I'll keep that in mind," The ghost grunted.

Jasmine then floated past the boy on her porch. The boy who wasn't sure if he was rebuffed or just in the way. He shoved the door further aside, "Excuse me, this is Fentonworks, right?"

Danny squinted from his spot on the stairs. He didn't want to expose his parents to another heckler. He stood, patting the side of his head, "Yeah, who's asking?"

"I'm interested in purchasing some ghost hunting equipment?" The boy held his arm awkwardly.

"That's not funny," Danny stated bluntly.

Then he didn't see the stranger change expression, "Oh my god, you're not kidding."

Seriously? His parents may not ever catch Danny, but them selling to more competent ghost hunters might actually be his undoing. On the other hand, he couldn't imagine anyone buying anything from his parents. Can his parents legally sell minors plasma weapons? Did he miss that family meeting?

"So do you stare at all your house guests, or am I special?" The boy inquired.

Descending the rest of the stairs, Danny waved his hand dismissively, "Er- Sorry, not many people around these parts actually take what my parents say seriously. I mean… I hardly do." He touched his chest before extending his hand forward, "I'm Danny Fenton."

Still, on the outside of the door, The boy offered his hand in return, "Jake Long."

Danny let go of the stranger's hand, "Have we met before?"

"Did you get that too?" Long asked, "I thought it was just me."

Before entering Fentonworks, Jake kicked off his shoes and then took them in his hand.

Danny raised his eyebrows, "You planning on moving in?"

Jake blinked- "Oh shoot, sorry- force of habit. I forgot you guys are weird about that."

"'You guys?'" Danny repeated.

"Uh- hah…" Jake chuckled, "Is it okay if my dog comes in with me?"

Danny blinked. If Randy was uncomfortable after sitting in a room with Danny's Dad for a few minutes, chances are Jake wouldn't last long either. Patting his legs, Fenton greeted the dog the same way Cujo liked, "I don't see why not."

The dog didn't seem particularly excited about a new environment. He wiped his paws on the mat before entering. Jake scratched the dog's head and praised, "Good boy…"

"Weirdly serious little thing, isn't he?" Danny queried.

Jake made a face as if he wasn't sure if Danny meant the dog or him.

Danny walked into the kitchen lab entrance, calling out, "Hey Dad, You got a visitor!"

"Good one, son!" His father replied, "Funnier every time!"

"No," The younger Fenton coaxed, "Dad, you really have a visitor! He wants to see the ghost equipment."

Without another word, Jack Fenton barreled up the stairs. With the rapidly approaching footsteps, Danny returned to Jake, "You might want to keep the shoes on, FYI. Ectoplasm stains don't come out of cotton."

"Uh sure," Jake wondered if these kids were this unapproachable he wasn't sure how he was going to fair against the adults, "don't even trip, bro."

Danny crossed his arms, " _Right_."

The two teens stared at each other. Nothing much to say. They didn't like each other; they didn't need the words to express that much. For whatever reason, Jake knew whatever Danny was going to say. Jake wasn't going to listen. Danny saw that and raised. Danny didn't necessarily need the approval of the dude who walked in from out of the blue, thinking himself a wannabe ghost hunter. All that was communicated with an awkward silence.

Danny's father nearly toppling over himself coming up the stairs, he landed in the kitchen, "So what's this I heard about an apprentice?"

"That would be me, sir." Jake raised his hand innocently enough," I'm interested in using some of your equipment."

Jack quickly took the young man's hand and began to shake him excitedly, "Pleasure to meet ya, the name's Jack Fenton. You've met my son, Danny-"

"Charmed," Danny remarked, getting his cereal bowl from the cabinet.

Jake gestured to the shar-pei, which appeared to be sniffing Danny's leg rather intensely, "I'm sorry, I hope you don't mind you brought my partner in here."

Mr Fenton was probably so overjoyed at the idea someone at all would willingly come over to humor him and his ramblings that he didn't notice a four-legged friend in his kitchen. Jack pointed to the mutt, "Your partner?"

"See, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, Mr Fenton-" Jake began, "Er- My name's Jake- Jake Long, sir."

"And… well… I don't know if you're going to laugh at me for saying this…" Jake rather bashfully admitted, "but I can see ghosts."

Danny froze in place. His eyes shot open. What did Jake mean by that? Danny faced away from the young man. If he could see the expression on Danny's face, it would be further damning evidence. The story Jake was trying to spin wasn't registering. It wasn't connecting. All the pieces, as he knew it, were being upset. A train wreck of new information he'd have to process and figure out a way to maneuver himself around.

Danny found himself glaring down at the animal which was trying to inhale his pants. He wouldn't strike an animal, of course, but he nudged the dog's body away with his calf.

The young man introduced, "My dog, Fu, he helps me with my premonitions."

Certainly, Jack Fenton believed a lot of things, but this had to be it. This had to be the line. Danny thought that even this was a little too much to swallow.

"Fascinating," Mr Fenton elatedly mused, "I've heard of animals having a heightened spiritual sense, but I've yet to see anyone properly train a dog to be a spiritual aid."

Fu barked at his name, causing Danny to jump and his eye to twitch. The phantom did not want to go down like this. He did not want to go down to some meddling kid and his dumb dog. After scooting the dog away again, Fu sneezed before trotting out of the kitchen.

"I come from a line of esteemed cryptid-zoologists," Long said, "My family is dedicated to the preservation, protection, and study of rare and exotic creatures."

"A noble pursuit!" Mr Fenton praised, "If I hadn't been wrapped in theoretical physics of meta-dimensions, I probably would've minored in cryptid-zoology."

"You wouldn't happen to be the same Fenton who authored a dissertation on malicious spirits-" The young man rubbed his hands in thought, "Uh- through the lens of refractive domestic wormholes?"

"Yes!" The old man beamed, "that was m- my post-graduate paper. You've read my work?"

"My folklore teacher and me have had quite the debate over it."

Jack pulled out Danny's chair, inviting Jake to sit at the kitchen table. Taking a seat, Jake spun the chair around. Mr Fenton who barely came out of his lab unless it was to eat, grab coffee by the pot or watch football, now was the perfect host. He quickly pulled out two mugs and began to pull out sugar and milk. "How do you take your beans?" Mr Fenton offered.

"You wouldn't happen to have any tea? I typically drink tea in the morning with my grandfather."

Brushing his son aside to get into the cupboard, Mr Fenton nodded, "you know, I think we have English breakfast tea, there's a funny story there- my daughter Jasmine- She-"

Danny protested, "Dad."

"Danny, shouldn't you be heading to school soon?" Jack clapped, "Chop Chop! Let's see some hustle, son!"

The younger Fenton slammed down his empty cereal bowl on the counter, "Dad! You don't know if this kid is legit!" Danny riposted, "He just happened to waltz in here and said basically everything you've ever wanted to hear?"

Jack grasped the box of tea bags, furrowing his brow disappointedly. Meanwhile, the young man, the stranger, only pursed his lips in irritation.

He seethed, "I've seen you get like this only to get your hopes up," Danny pleaded, "Dad, just be smart."

"Danny, I cannot believe how rude you're being right now; we have company for Pete's sake!"

Feeling his face fall in utter disbelief, Danny balled his fist before snapping towards Jake, "Well, where's your proof, huh?"

"Daniel Allen Phillips Fenton! We do not badger our guests like this!"

Scratching the back of his neck, Jake long cautiously ventured, "I didn't wanna be the bearer of bad news, but your house is kinda haunted."

"Impossible," Danny laughed, "My dad's equipment would've gone off!"

"... My son, despite being way out of line, is correct," Mr Fenton was hesitant to agree, "my equipment is susceptible to ecto-energy, and I have many alarms tuned to the frequency."

Triumphantly Danny smirked. For once in a blue moon, he and his dad were on a similar page.

Out of nowhere, Jake gripped his head, covering his unusually pointy ears; he groaned, "You can't hear the wails?"

"Stop faking!" The younger Fenton berated. His ghost sense hadn't gone off all morning! This guy was totally full of it!

Fu could be heard barking and growling on the stairs. Both Father and son shot a look upward to the ceiling. The house began to tremble, and the lights began to blink rapidly. Danny gasped, a chill escaping his breath.

A voice rattled through the whole house, "FINALLY! THE BOX GHOST HAS BEEN RELEASED FOR A NEW REIGN OF CUBIC TERROR! THE LIKES OF WHICH THE LIVING WORLD HAS NEVER SEEN!"

There was a scream.

"MADDIE!" Jack cried

Danny shot a glare towards the stranger; he seethed- Somehow- he wasn't sure on the method, but Jake had tried to put Danny's mom in danger. Jake shot up and sprinted up the stairs, Mr Fenton following behind.

Cracking open the fridge, Danny grabbed the broken Fenton Thermos, hoping that maybe it could still be of some use to him. Though as he studied it for a brief moment, Danny could hear the defeated shriek of the Box Ghost echoed to the main floor.

Then silence.

Running in the same direction. The phantom rounded the corner, his show nearly catching on the rug. He entered his parents' bedroom. Mrs Fenton was no worse for wear, thankfully. Though she was clearly startled and shaken up, still armed with the Fenton Ghost Weasel. She had it aimed to where Danny could only assume the Box Ghost made his brief appearance.

"Sugar Honey Ice Tea!" Mrs Fenton exclaimed, taking another moment of recovery before lowering the vacuum, "That startled the dickens out of me."

"Mom!" "Lambchop!"

Maddie removed her goggles and assured, "I'm quite alright, boys." She joked, "Though let that be a lesson to those who interrupt my dusting."

She disengaged the machine. It whirred and hummed as the lights died. Madeline put her hands on her hips, "How on earth did a ghost get in here? Shouldn't the alarm have gone off?"

Jack was befuddled, "I- I couldn't tell you, sweetheart, but I'm glad you're okay." He patted Long on the back, "This boy had sensed the ghost and had attempted to warn me, but I-"

"I'm sorry ma'am," Jake touched his chest sincerely, "I've had said something earlier then maybe-"

"Think nothing of it, sweetie. Stranger things have happened, and I can handle myself," She jabbed, "despite what my husband thinks."

Maddie found her son, and his tense expression, "Is he another friend of yours, honey?"

Firing another suspicious glance at the young man, Danny answered, _"No."_


	9. Now with Killer Kung-Fu Grip

Randy had noticed his new pals appeared to be tense. Well, they were always tense. Actually, they seemed tense-ist when he was around. He wondered if he was reading into that. Sam had been clicking her pen so fast and hard that the plastic was beginning to crack. Tucker scratched his head so much that you would've thought the poor kid had lice. Danny had this resting look on his face that could kill a man on contact. A dark cloud of energy radiated over them. It made him nervous to see them like that because usually, what came next was so much worse. Though he knew deep down that he was the cause of their anger, it still didn't hurt him any less. It wasn't so much that it was emotionally painful; Cunningham had become physically apprehensive as well. Like how broken bones always ache before a coming rain.

He didn't exactly have fond memories of monster drills growing up. Randy found himself balling his fists when people didn't take them seriously. Oftentimes students were injured by evacuating rather than the monsters. In a way, it confirmed to Randy that self-preservation was stronger than compassion. Every single time.

Sam, Tucker, Danny seemed like good kids. Though their actions at Nasty Burger may have left more of a sour taste in his mouth. Even so, he needed them. He needed someone close to the Phantom. He needed the Phantom.

Lancer addressed the class from a collection of note-cards, "Today marks the second day of the big exchange program. Amity Park and Norrisville have had a very fruitful relationship for many years," He paused with a large sigh, "Mcfist industries, one of Norrisville's crowning companies, known for creating their circuit boards through recycled materials and keeping American jobs intact-"

"Oh my Brother, my Brother and me," Mr Lancer exclaimed with his boredom. He cycled through the cards, "I'm an English teacher, by the bard himself! Not a soulless financial literacy guru- "

"I am not making you kids write an essay on the autobiography of Hannibal Mcfist." The teacher picked up his wastebasket and disposed of the notes, "I may be a warrior of the pen, but I will not allow capitalist propaganda in this classroom."

Tucker groaned while Sam raised a rocker-fist in solidarity.

"However, I am obligated by the board to at least teach you something about Norrisville." He stole a glance at the attendance sheet, "So, why don't we cover what Norrisville is most known for besides electronics and theme parks- The Norrisville Ninja."

There were a few sporadic claps.

"Randy Cunningham, since you are our sole Norrisville representative in class today, would you care to give us a testimonial of your experiences?"

Randy fidgeted in his seat, "Er- uh actually, there is a video that I think could better summarize my experiences with the ninja." He grasped his crutch in an attempt to stand, "Would it be okay if I use the projector?"

"No funny business," Lancer warned while rolling down the screen.

"Of course," the 9th grader assured, he staggered over to the computer. After a few seconds of typing, he signaled to Mr Lancer that he was prepared.

Mind still spinning away with thoughts, Danny was still surprised to hear no one besides Randy, Tucker, Sam, Valerie, and that Dragon had seen the ninja in Amity Park. Even when Tucker and Sam gave their statement to the proper authorities about a third combatant, no leads turned up. He was having a hard time seeing why people celebrated the ninja. All sources Tucker could find on the ninja claimed that he was nothing but a monument of peace. A benevolent spirit that helped keep the citizens of Norrisville safe. At the Nasty Burger, he struck underhandedly at every opportunity. And that comment, 'It isn't personal.'

Benevolent spirits aren't bought. Spirits don't need money. Spirits wanted power, and they wanted baubles; they wanted attention. But when you're dead, currency didn't seem to matter. What would an eight-hundred-year-old spirit need for money? Ninja or not, where was he going to spend his money?

Danny was convinced that either someone had to be impersonating the ninja for their own personal benefit or the ninja wasn't who everyone thought he was, to begin with.

"Ms Manson, could you get the lights?"

Sam took a break from her pen cracking to cross the room and turn off the overhead fluorescents. Danny caused the bulbs to flicker momentarily, to get her attention.

"Hey, ditch second period." Fenton whispered, "I need to talk to you guys. Pass it on."

With a nod, Sam returned to her seat. Fenton used to sneak out during class, but Lancer would time Danny's supposed 'visits' to the restroom before sending a hall monitor to track him down. Despite being a pain, you had to admire his dedication to keeping Amity Park educated.

After the video loaded, Randy pressed the spacebar.

_A ginger-haired teenage girl with a mole on her cheek, closer to Jazz's age, was in a plush red recording studio. Leaning into a pink fluffy microphone, she declared, "I'm Heidi Wienerman, and- What's up Norrisville High? That's right; it's morning announcements!"_

_The video consisted of the girl giving the schedules for clubs and practices along with a few witticisms. It was a charming little show that seemed to be informative if you were a Norrisville student. Heidi, while coming off as a charismatic improviser she did throw in an odd opinion on the lunch menu or a student that particularly got on her nerves._

Lancer wasn't getting the point of the video, but before he could ask-

_Heidi produced a party popper from under her desk; she explained, "Okay, I know everyone is waiting for me to drop the newest gossip compilation, but I purpose in an effort to show appreciation toward our school's protector- we dedicate this segment to him!"_

_Pop!_

" _I'd like to thank my dorky brother, Howard, for the idea, oh- and his pal Rocko."_

Randy rolled his eyes.

_The girl put her hand in front of the camera, and in a smooth transition, the video switched to a hand-held phone capturing a large towering monster in a ripped band uniform. The monster roared and spat while picking up a car from the teachers parking lot- winding up for a throw when suddenly-_

" _Ninja-sword slash!"_

_In the blink of an eye, there was a white flash cutting across the monster's hat. Once the hat was destroyed, the monster was then blanketed and wrapped in a green mist. The black-clad ninja landed in front of the mist victorious._

_There were more instances of the ninja demonstrating heroics. Saving students, befriending them, performing flips and tricks for onlookers. And, of course, receiving blow after blow from lumbering kaiju-sized monsters. Or laser blasts from robot gorillas. However, that didn't seem to stop the ninja; he simply got back up. Gave a nod, a line about how it barely hurt. Cutting and collaging itself into a wall, countless other cell phone videos all the while a slow piano ballad played under the footage._

" _He wears a mask, but don't we all? When he's not around, you gotta stand tall-!" The vocalist sang with a quaver in her voice, showing unfeigned emotion._

_The instrumental hit a lull and settled down for a moment. The video collage faded._

_One more handheld video played, a student spotting the ninja attempting to catch his breath after a monster siege. The ninja sat down, thinking he was alone. He reached behind his head-_

" _Wait!"_

_The Ninja looked up to the person wielding the phone. He- he froze._

" _Ninja, before- before you take off, could you- could you please tell us what you- what do you love about Norrisville High?"_

_Clearly exhausted, the ninja still put on a friendly effect despite how poorly he was carrying himself physically. He looked… oddly small at that moment despite still towering over the other students. As if all he had holding him upright was his own arms. Clutching the side of his body, he turned his injuries away from the camera's view._

" _What do I love about Norrisville High?"_

" _That's easy. Year after year, I get to see and know the faces of the future, the kids who will become the people to change the world. What I love about Norrisville High is I know, without me around, the world is in good hands."_

_The Ninja raised his hand toward the sky-_

" _Smoke Bomb!"_

_In a cloud of pink, he disappeared._

_The camera person nearly dropped their camera in surprise and exclaimed, "Oh my god! I just saw- did anyone else see that!?"_

_The video cut and transitioned back to Heidi in her studio. She seemed to be fanning and choking back a rehearsed sob, "Ugh! I couldn't agree with him more. Alright- reel it in, girl."_

" _With that, I'll be giving it back to the teachers. If you wish to download that song, it's on my SoundCloud. Have a fresh day Norrisville Carps!"_

The video ended with a close Norrisville Carp logo. And Lancer switched the lights back on; he appeared to be somewhat moved. Though the teacher was hard to read, he helped Randy back to his seat in a moment of 'softness.' He praised, "Thank you for that video, Mr Cunningham. I believe it helped in enlightening the class on what values Norrisville holds dear besides vapid consumerism."

He clarified, "No offense, Mr Cunningham."

"None taken, teach." Randy leaned his crutches against the wall, "There are actually thousands of videos like this on the NHN tag. It's uh- overwhelming."

"I know it feels easy to give in to trends, liking the ghost punk maybe in vogue now, but traditionalist values like that which the ninja upholds, the idea of legacy, honor, and dignity under pressure, those you can apply to your daily lives."

A few students booed and heckled the time-worn argument of old versus new being brought into their classroom.

Randy chuckled as soon as the word dignity appeared, "I mean- we're all allowed to interpret what he does differently."

Lancer returned to the front of the classroom, pulling the projector closed. He posed, "and what do you believe the ninja's values are, Mr Cunningham?"

"I... He- to me he represents…" Randy blinked, he tapped the desk, "the ninja represents…"

Danny noticed that Randy was struggling. Seemingly always the one with an answer to everything was drowning in air. Fenton studied him for a moment. It was easy to be intimidated by Lancer. Lancer didn't really accept 'I don't know' as an answer.

"The ninja to me represents the struggle of… courage."

"Do you think the ninja gets scared, Randy?"

Cunningham fumbled, "I know I would be- if I did…" he shrugged, "if I did what he did every day."

"Certainly," Lancer concluded. He clapped his hands together, "Now this reminds me of a fascinating tale of Samurai Miyamoto Musashi, see- What Musashi did best, was tiring out his opponents, using the element of surprise. He killed his first opponent when he was twelve years old because someone older misjudged his abilities."

Lancer parked himself in his rolling chair, "Musashi wasn't a traditionalist by any sense of the word- he viewed tradition as- as a prison. He wasn't even a samurai; he reclaimed the title for himself. He was without a master, same as the Norrisville Ninja. Though I believe through the ninja honoring his conventional methods while appreciating and adapting to the youthful unconventional around him, he's a modern-day Musashi."

The Phantom couldn't stomach any more of this, waxing poetically about his enemy and his methods. How great he was compared to him. Danny voiced his opinion, "Lancer, could we maybe just get to the assignment?"

"Well, Danny, I think this is the first time in a lesson you've asked for more work," Lancer continued in his lofty tone, "Must make me the teacher of the year."

"I want you all on your own time at home to conduct research on Miyamoto Musashi, and bring me a piece of writing tomorrow morning- doesn't have to be your best work, just something that tells me you were paying attention today."

The students were at first excited that Lancer appeared to be so moved that he was giving them something easy to do. Then he crossed his arms sternly and ordered, "it has to be two thousand words or more. I will be counting, boys and girls, I will be counting."

* * *

The bell rang, and the students continued their daily migration to their respective classes. That is except the usual three, and Randy makes four.

Perhaps Randy trying to juggle his recently acquired crutches, as well as a full bookbag, was having a hard time navigating an unfamiliar school. Having to suddenly jump to it and go to another room he had never heard of-

"Wait! H-hey, Danny do you think-" He tried to hobble after the crew, "Do you think you could-"

Randy, with his arm tangled in his crutch's armbar and then his hoodie pocket, unfolded a wrinkly schedule paper single-handedly. Though he miscalculated his speed, sending the paper to the floor, "uh- point me in- aw womp-!"

Before Danny left Lancer's classroom, he heard Randy's voice on the edge of his ears. He didn't necessarily feel great about an exchange student hovering around his friends. He felt considerably worse that his friends didn't evacuate Randy or any of the civilians. Danny had found that Randy had been hiding under a table and trembling. Fenton caught the schedule for him. He looked at Randy's classes. There was no way Randy could travel that far with all his stuff-

Randy took back his schedule, "Thanks… Anyway, I wanted to know where room two-o-six is. Could you maybe tell me how to get there?"

"You're not going that far by yourself," Danny asserted, "that's on the second floor- and we don't have a service elevator."

"Oh, that's inconvenient," Randy sarcastically observed, unphased by the challenge.

Danny gestured for Sam and Tucker to go on, "Hey- guys, I'll meet you there. I'm going to make sure Cunningham gets to class."

"Sure thing." Tucker agreed, rolling up his sweater sleeves and moving out.

Sam hesitated and looked askance at Randy. Randy smirked in reply if nothing else but to get a rise out of her. She rolled her eyes and scoffed, exiting the classroom.

"I appreciate the thought, dude," Cunningham assured, "but I've handled worse, don't waste your time-"

"Oh save it," Danny jabbed, "you don't have to impress me."

He reached for Cunningham's backpack.

Without hesitation, Randy captured Danny's wrist in his hand with the tightest- superhuman grip. The pair paused. Danny didn't think to wrestle out of his grasp, but he felt his eyes widen. He suddenly became very aware that they were the only two left in the classroom.

"Er… Sorry, I'd like it if my books stay with me." Randy let go.

Fenton slowly and with greater indecision nodded. As Danny led the way, he rubbed his arm.


	10. Helpless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its ectoham if you squint I suppose. I'm not totally satisfied with this chapter I'll be honest so maybe expect it to change? I wanted this to be a big heartfelt thing, about how Randy is like over-exerting himself because he has no faith in others to help him. but it just sort of feels like its missing something-- of course I wrote this chapter right when my inspiration kick ended. Cest la vie.
> 
> But I will say when I busted my leg, I did attempt to climb the stairs by hopping. I'm not the brightest bulb.

The journey to Randy's next class was mostly silent, verbally at least. The sound of the rubber crutch tips hitting the tile rhythmically was the only hint that Danny got that Randy was following him. Danny was unsure how to approach a conversation. Cunningham did appear to be a tad possessive of his bag for his own reasons. Probably a Pavlovian response from bullying or something similar, Fenton hypothesized.

Ugh, ew, he was turning into his sister.

He got the impression that Randy could've been the low man on the totem pole back home.

"So… the ninja," Danny started, "Does he only go after robots and monsters?"

"Plus monster-robots."

"Right." Danny slowed, allowing Randy to match his speed. He posited, "So then he only goes after bad- creatures?"

Randy suddenly halted, "Uh- yeah, of course, he does? Wh-what the juice are you trying to say?"

"Oh- no, I'm- I'm not trying to offend you or anything. Just that Invisobill isn't exactly a bad guy. If the ninja knew that th-"

Randy countered almost defensively, "I thought you guys 'hated' ghosts? I thought everyone here 'hates' ghosts?"

"It's complicated." Fenton stopped at the stairs, "Here's the hard part. How do you want to do this, do you want to hold on to your stuff and I'll lead you up or-"

Without warning, Randy dropped his crutches and began to climb the stairs. Hopping on his good foot- trying to land on the stair ahead. This method was longer and unsafer than any Danny would have suggested. It wasn't that Randy was in the way, but it was causing some students to either maneuver around him or go to the other staircase.

"Dude!" Danny couldn't believe that Randy was so against his help. He held the arm rail in case he had to chase after the other 9th grader.

"Look, I got it, see?" Cunningham caught the edge of the fifth step before slamming his shoulder into the stairwell wall.

Danny, not wanting him to spill out onto the floor, which would arguably hurt worse than crashing on a friend, yanked on Randy's hood. Sending both of them to the linoleum, their backpacks cushioned some of the fall. Randy's back crashed into Danny's chest. In the collision, Cunningham had thrashed his head back, hitting Fenton in the forehead where he was still recovering from his headbutt from the ninja.

Both teens groaned.

"What was your plan there, genius?" Danny scowled before remembering that Cunningham wasn't just an idiot with a bad foot- he was an idiot with a bad foot and swiss cheese for ribs. Fenton got to his knees, shaking out his head, making sure Randy wasn't bleeding or worse.

"Ugh… Total shoob-move."

Danny blurted out, "Can you just- let me help you?! Let me take your bag- or something, at least!"

"Why d- do you care?" Randy tried to pull himself up, but it nearly caused him to scream. He rolled onto his side, and weakly attempted to gather his papers and school supplies.

The other students in the hallway just seemed to stop and stare or just pretend they didn't see. Danny couldn't blame either reaction. He found the question asinine. Asinine and frustrating. Fenton attempted to prop up Randy, pulling him by the armpits.

"Ow-OW- OWOW OW- STOP! DANNY!"

"You're really not giving me a lot to work with here, pal."

"I- I can get myself up." Randy swatted him, "I can walk myself to my next class-! Stop following me if you're going to pity me."

"You got hurt, and that's my fault!" Danny exploded.

"So, you're helping me because you- you feel bad? Just- say that now." Randy grunted, transitioning onto his knees, "So we don't have to go through that awkward stage of you pretending to like me."

Danny got the oddest sense of deja-vu.

Holding his injured side away from Danny, Randy appeared to be trying to pass off that he wasn't really in that much pain.

"Randy, we're friends, you idiot. Of course, I like you." Danny said, retrieving the crutches and thrusting them towards Cunningham, "You're just as stubborn as I am. Probably more confident, which I am jealous of, you're weird, but clearly, you don't care- of course, we're friends."

"You do realize we just met, like not even sixteen hours ago?" Randy seethed before pushing himself up to his good foot.

"So? Friends come and go. Some of them aren't destined to be permanent; I'd rather be your friend now then keep having this stupid argument." Danny grabbed his bag from the floor. A black leather tome had been hiding underneath his backpack. The red lettering seemed to glow when exposed to the light. Danny picked up the unfamiliar book.

Upon finally getting himself standing, Randy exclaimed, "What the juice-!"

"That's mine!" He reached but couldn't follow through when he felt his ribs protest.

Instinctively, Danny held it away from Randy. A defense that he got from having an older sister and Dash around. He blinked at the cover, unable to read it. It looked to be covered in Japanese characters. After taking a moment to just look at it, he gave it back to Randy, who nearly took his hands with it. Cunningham exhaled with relief.

"Dude, it's cool if you have a diary," Danny scratched his head.

Randy blinked. He didn't say anything initially. Though for some strange reason, he appeared… amused. Amused, clearly at ease like he had been overreacting. Randy sighed, his eyebrows still pinched with adrenaline, "Yeah- my diary."

Danny nagged once more, "Can I, please, walk you to class now, so you don't end up breaking your jaw next?"

"Fine," Randy finally returned to his normal or as-normal-as-Randy-could-be cadence, "But don't think you're getting a kiss on the cheek- I'm not that kind of boy."

"Ha, ha."

* * *

Sam paced the cramped floor of the janitor's closet with five wide steps. Another tick of hers. Which Tucker totally didn't find annoying. At least the pen-pushing didn't involve him getting his fingers stepped on with pleather boots. She muttered, "I don't like him, Tucker."

Tucker pulled out his secret laptop, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor. He figured he would power through Lancer's assignment while they waited. He rolled his eyes. Tucker continued to type, ignoring Sam's paranoid spiral.

"Tucker?"

"Yep?"

"I don't like him."

"Yep."

Stamping her foot impatiently, Sam demanded, "Did you hear me?"

"Girl, people in orbit can hear you, damn." Foley barely looked over his screen. Normally when Sam got herself keyed up, he always attempted to be as supportive as possible. Though she always rejected him.

Then, of course, he wasn't on the same page with her, vis a vis 'Randy is a creep' thing. Any reasoning he did give resulted in Sam saying, 'well, of course, you'd like him.'

For once, Tucker decided to let her nurse herself through a freakout. Self-Soothing, like he attempted to do with their flour sack baby project.

"Sam, do you know if your parents let you self-soothe, or were they the type of parents who viewed crying babies worse than like- I don't know-" Tucker suggested, "racists?"

"Dude, what the hell are you talking about?"

"It got your mind off of it, though, huh?" Tucker raised an eyebrow.

The janitor's door opened, the pair saw the light from the outside creep up their legs. They froze, unsure if it was a friend or staff member.

"Sorry, that took longer than I thought it would."

Sam held a mop as a weapon, "Danny! Gah- don't do that."

"Did you want me to knock?" Danny closed the door.

"That would be appropriate! Yes! It's almost like we're trying to have a covert meeting during school hours or something-" Sam set the mop down and took a seat on the floor across from Tucker.

Tucker casually continued his homework, flipping his laptop back open- trying to connect to the teacher's wifi network- again. He happened just so happened to be the calmest one out of the three. It only slightly annoyed him, Foley cracked, "Double-O-Goth, Sam Manson: international teen of mystery."

She kicked him, "Shut up, Tucker."

"Danny, not that I don't enjoy being stuffed in a room that's five-by-five feet, with a hormonal girl, and getting loopy on cleaning fumes- but why are we here?" Foley opened several tabs for Miyamoto Musashi and began a wide search on all social media for the content tag: NHN.

Sam scrambled for the mop handle, "Hormonal? Hormonal?! I'll show you-"

Fenton rolled it out of her reach, "Enough- the both of you have been stirring the pot all night. You guys are friends; start acting like it!"

For a moment, Tucker looked up at Danny. His friend that he was willing to follow to the end, then he looked at Sam. The friend he could barely sit with in the county jail because she wanted to protest for purpleback gorilla enrichment.

She pointed at Tucker, "Literally- everything was fine until Randy showed up. I can't be the only one who sees that coincidence. The day he shows up, you get attacked by the ninja."

"Sam, when did you stop to think that Randy wasn't the only Norrisville student who came to Amity Park?" Tucker surmised.

"He's the only one asking questions he shouldn't."

"He's a total klutz; he can't even get himself up the stairs, let alone flip around like a gymnast," Danny insisted, "And he's not who I'm worried about."

Tucker tapped the wall and declared like he should've been wearing white curls, "The floor recognizes Daniel Fenton."

Sam huffed.

"Thanks, Tuck." Danny took off his bag and sat against the door. Before getting himself worked up once again, he took a moment to organize the information in his head.

"Is this about the weird kid that came to your house?" Manson queried.

Tucker glanced from his screen, surprised that he hadn't heard of this information earlier, "What weird kid?"

"Some kid, some short kid-" Danny began, "He wanted to buy ghost equipment."

Tucker remarked bitterly, "Well, your family at least sold something."

"Don't start," Fenton sneered.

Danny began to unpack it, "He said he could... That he could see ghosts?"

Sam became worried, "But he couldn't see you? Right?"

"That's how I knew he was lying. He couldn't see me- he couldn't detect me at all. That isn't the weirdest part. Somehow he snuck in the Box Ghost into my house."

"What?" Tucker nearly shut his laptop, "He snuck in a ghost without ghost equipment, and he did it without triggering the alarms in your house?"

"I- I don't know how he did other than he's- he's in communication with ghosts, somehow."

"Could he be half ghost too?" Sam picked at her boot aglet nervously.

"I don't know, if he is, he's been at this longer than I have." Danny tugged at his eyebags, sand still in his tear ducts. He felt a sharp migraine coming on. He thought of his father, how happy he was for someone to be interested in what he was trying to say, what he had been saying for years. Danny couldn't fathom it, but his father was- starved of human connection. Everyone didn't take his job seriously. Jack had this belief no matter the inherent ethics of it, this belief was so powerful he had to sacrifice respect, money, and who knows what else. In hopes of chasing the storm. Nothing that ever seemed to be in short supply was his faith.

His dad was more alike to Danny than he knew. They both were desperate for a connection- that someone had been listening. Anyone at all. Danny couldn't find the energy to be angry with his father.

Fenton rested his head onto his knees, "He played my dad better than all three of us combined. Before I left today, my mom was already making dinner plans with the kid."

"So a-a ghost hunter, who may or may not be half-ghost, came in from off the street and-" Tucker took off his glasses, closely following behind on the headache train. He closed his eyes, "wanted weapons, and your folks gave him some?"

"He tried to pass off some crock about how he was a cryptid-zoologist in the practice of preservation." Danny shrugged, "Or Something. I couldn't hear him, because his dog was investigating me. They haven't gotten to the weapons thing yet. Mom and Dad mentioned something about training."

Sam crossed her arms, "This is a mess."

"Gee, you're telling me."

Foley was a man of solutions. He opened up more tabs, "Did he say what his name was? What does he look like? Anything I can go off of so we can have a chance at a fight?"

"He was Asian about four-foot-ten, he looked like he was twelve, but he said he was sixteen black hair, he said his name was Jake Long." Fenton rattled off, his posture deflating.

Tucker went quiet and began typing frantically. As if he was trying to burn through the keys.

"So- uh while he's doing… that," Sam gestured to Foley, "Did you get any information out of Randy?"

"I was being nice, Sam, no ulterior motives." Danny was becoming exhausted with her paranoia. He teased, "You should give it a shot sometime."

Scowling, she didn't think he was being particularly nice right now. Sam held her shoulders and took a breath. She persuaded, "Humor me."

Sam had been effectively hugging herself, just something to put herself at ease, "Tell me why he couldn't be the ninja. Then I'll drop it."

"Dude's got a diary." Danny chuckled, "Apparently he's super protective of his bag- seriously, he grabbed my arm so tight I thought that-"

Sam's eyes were large.

"I think someone has to be impersonating the ninja." Danny presented his theory, "If this guy is eight centuries old, and like- Randy said that the guy only ever goes after irredeemably bad creatures-"

"That's not what he told me," Tucker softly interrupted, "He… he said that the monsters were… the monsters were the students."

"What?" Sam held herself tighter.

"Randy told me last night that the reason he wanted to meet the phantom was because… he wanted to learn what it was like to… like to be…" Tucker trailed off, "Randy said that the teens were turning into the monsters because… because their emotions got the better of them."

Manson gasped, "Oh my god."

"Why would he lie to me…?"

"I don't know why either of you are surprised!" Sam yelled, "You guys do remember we spent a majority of our school life lying about what we're doing and where we are?"

"We should keep an eye on him, I'll agree to that," Tucker conceded.

Danny pointed to the laptop, "What about Jake Long?"

Swiveling the computer around, Tucker pulled up an incredibly long list of social media profiles, "Apparently, Jake Longs are the new John Does."

Foley gestured to the screen with different variations of the name, "Is there anything else that could help me narrow it down? Did he say where he was from? Did he say anything about people he associates with?"

"He mentioned something about a teacher he had… something- Rottwood, a folklore and archeological studies guy… and my Dad's paper on refractive domestic wormholes?"

"Hans Rottwood?" Tucker asked.

"Yes! Yes, that's the guy!"

Danny saw that Tucker was scrolling through a website by how the light reflected on his glasses. He read off, "Hans Rottwood had been discharged from his professor position following the disturbing obsession with the paranormal. Campus police had allegedly found large metal cages and traps as well as pictures of his students on a wall with hypotheses on what creature they were under their 'guises.'"

"Yikes," Was all Danny and Sam could utter.

"That's not all!" Tucker held up his hand, "Along with this supposed 'hit list,' he had covered his walls with mirrors to perform what was known as a 'scrying' ritual. The mirrors were to be used to commune with demons or the dead."

"So… what I'm hearing is that either this guy was an extreme narcissist or-," Sam attempted to bring some levity, "he clearly had a way to talk to spirits with mirrors."

"My dad's paper-! Refractive domestic wormholes that's like big-brain speak for mirrors, right?!" Danny felt as if they were close to a breakthrough.

"Ghosts and mirrors…" Sam murmured, "Why does that sound so familiar?"

"SIDNEY POINTDEXTER!" "POINTDEXTER!" "...HOLY CRAP!"


	11. Soup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey-- I'm tired. Your perpetually sleepy author is trying to do it all. I ended up writing a lot more for this chapter than originally thought but it's still barely moving the plot forward. I feel like act two is going to be the longest act. Right now I'm trying to figure out ways for Jake and Randy to interact separately away from Danny. If you guys have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them. Though the necessary evil of setting the main plot around mistaken identity and setting the plot in Danny's world it's hard to have Jake and Randy meet naturally, though hopefully the way I'm winding it up it'll work out.

The Fenton’s lab smelled… stuffy. It smelled like a place that didn’t have a lot of fresh air. Stale. With copious amounts of sweat, oil, and other various odors trapped into the walls. Despite sharing eerie similarities to a doctor’s office, Jake was fundamentally terrified of getting tetanus from accidentally nicking himself on one of the sharp corners around the laboratory. It wasn’t that he thought the Fentons were gross, but they probably just spent a lot of time in the lab if the pizza boxes were anything to judge by. 

Jake watched the two Fenton’s unload their dust devil. 

“So what’s it like being a spiritual medium?” Maddie queried, but before Jake could answer, she then posed, “Could I scan your brain waves?” 

“As long as you use suction cups instead of tape--” 

“Smart man.” Jack tutted while disconnecting the vacuum’s hose. He removed the vacuum cleaner bag. The box ghost trying to punch his way out, 

“So what material do you guys use to keep ghosts secure?” Jake muscled his way in between the Fentons to get a better view of their peculiar machine. 

The couple rarely had a willing audience to explain their technology. Maddie was the engineer, so she offered her perspective, "It's a special type of tinfoil alloy metal coated in ectoplasm. After reviewing Jack’s hypothesis and conducting some experiments simulating a ghosts’ particle frequency-- Tinfoil was malleable but reflective enough to contain those frequencies.” 

“But can’t ghosts bypass their own reflection and use that as a natural gateway to the--” Jake used air-quotes, “‘Otherside’?” 

He didn’t doubt the modern advances that two allegedly competent scientists have made. But humans had a pretty poor track record of fully thinking through poking supernatural bears. From what Long had learned from Fu and his grandfather, ghosts found natural portals to the living world through mirrors and reflections. There was no doubt many spiritual and theological connections as to why. Jake mostly tried to reference his knowledge by which horror movie was most correct. Mirrors weren’t inherently evil, just like how ghosts weren’t inherently evil. Most passed benevolently from place to place and barely had enough energy to throw a plate threateningly. However, mirrors seemed to possess and hold onto the worst aspects of humanity as a silent witness. Since Narcissus became entranced with his own reflection, there’s always been something undeniably off about mirrors. 

Mrs Fenton lowered her goggles over her brown shaggy bobcut, “Yes-- exactly without something to seal the ghosts inside like a bonding agent-- they would just float out of the machine. Though oddly enough, the only object ghosts cannot phase through is ectoplasm. Since their bodies are made of it, they can’t pass through it. I’m still trying to experiment thoroughly with how it functions-- But combined with ultraviolet light to stun, you’ve caught yourself a ghost.” 

Jake Long supposed that was the best explanation he was getting for now, even if he didn't understand it.

Mr Fenton began using his baseball glove sized hand to hit keys in code. It was in an old school green and black command window. It looked incomprehensible to someone who wasn’t particularly tech adept. Spud would have an easy time navigating it-- Jake thought. The doors opened to the ghost portal. There was verbal silence heightening the sounds of what sounded like oil being poured. Like it was pooling onto the floor, but he couldn't see it. The ooze gateway sloshed together. It was disorienting to Jake. Almost hypnotizing how the gate to the ghost dimension called out. More tempting than the sirens and fae of New York, though not by offering sweet things. But release. Release from responsibility. It was the call of the void. All warmth had left the room. The only thing that felt grounded to Jake was his own fingernails piercing through his jacket and into the skin of his stomach. The dragon wondered if exposure to the portal had desensitized the Fenton’s or they possessed a stronger conviction by way of being adults. However, the creeping suspicion that the couple was so far disillusioned that they were spitting in the face of the cosmic balance. 

The portal wasn’t evil, though it certainly conducted itself like it was. Jake didn’t step closer, though everything in his body told him otherwise. The Fentons had no idea what they were tampering with. Jake felt sweat bulleting down his forehead, but the droplets were sucked into the portal. Mr Fenton canceled the command, swearing under his breath, “damn, I always forget the right code.” 

Spinning around as to not look at the portal-- Jake feared what would happen if he looked at it for too long. He saw other appliances in the laboratory, a blender, a game headset, a questionably appropriate standing dream catcher. He queried, “So… why a vacuum?” 

“Oh-- I believe in multi-purpose technology.” Maddie said in an almost rehearsed manner, “The thermos is my favorite example; it's a nifty little gadget that does so much more than just keep soup hot or cold.” 

“It can… hold other things besides soup?” Jake offered, furrowing his brow. 

“Yes, exactly!” Mrs Fenton beamed, “now, not only can it hold soups, drinks, water-- but you can use it as a blunt object to beat muggers with!” 

“...I see.” 

Mrs Fenton’s face softened slightly, sensing she lost her new trainee. She set down her soldering iron, “What I’m trying to say is that the element of surprise is a powerful tool against ghosts, against anyone who underestimates you. Things aren’t what they always appear to be.” 

Jake nodded, noting that she was hunched over slightly in attempts to be on his level. He wasn’t that short, was what he wanted to say-- but that was pointless. He certainly didn’t need the lecture, but he got the feeling that the Fenton’s kids didn’t always stick around for it. 

“That doesn’t just go for Amity Park,” She reminded. 

After toiling away at the computer, Jack typed in the right command. A few clear tubes let out some steam and vapor as a sort of celebratory sign. Jack scooped up the dust devil, plugging a different accordion hose descending from the portal. Jack was laughing with conviction, “That’ll teach you ghost scum!” 

"We also make dual-purpose ghost hunting equipment to try and recoup some of our investment in building costs." Jack sat on the ground, watching the green liquid be dragged up from the vacuum. He spoke with humility, as much as he did braggadocio. Jack Fenton was a man with decidedly no qualms with himself as a person. He knew what he was about, but getting someone to recognize it was difficult. Jake could respect that, from the perspective of being a young man that was hard on himself. Though clearly, Jake had grown from the need for validation. 

“Before we get started training, we should find you a jumpsuit--” 

Maddie clapped excitedly at the idea.

Feeling his face reflexively cringe, he forced it into a smile-- Jake liked his baggy clothes because they filled out his frame. The jumpsuits the Fentons wore while they were skin-tight-- were also unbelievably ugly. However, Jake nodded, he nodded-- reluctantly. He had yet to get any of the tools he needed for the Phantom. So far, Jake had all but been adopted into this odd family through nothing but listening. 

He had difficulty with what he heard, though. Long knew through befriending Rotwood that obsession could drive one to hatred, but deep beneath that hatred, there was still a person underneath. Jake could see glimpses of what types of people the Fenton’s were, not defined by their prejudice. Generous, resourceful, intelligent. They were people he could see his parents befriending under the right circumstances. He wondered how they would react if they only who, or rather- what they were speaking to. It wasn’t that Jake had a lot of dignity to begin with, but this was maybe a little too much for him. 

“We’ll be right back!” “Be careful poking around!” The Fentons departed up the stairs. Leaving Jake standing in the middle of what could only be described as a ghost torture facility. 

The ends justify the means-- Long held onto that thought. He could hear the portal churning behind the metal doors. His chest rose with apprehension. Jake wondered what his grandfather would’ve done. Would he have played the game?

“I never thought they would leave,” Fu yawned, popping his joints and stretching, getting back into a bi-pedal stance.

Startling, Jake yelled, “Jeez! I just-- I forgot you were here.” 

Sarcastically Fu chortled, “Thanks.” 

“You know what I meant,” The young dragon sighed, “I didn’t think you were capable of being this quiet.” 

Fu waddled over to the ghost portal. He didn’t seem to like it much either. Fu sniffed at it, “It's okay to be scared, Jake.” 

“I’m not scared… I’m just being cautious.” 

“This place reeks of something foul,” Fu stated, “In more ways than one, their kid smells like week-old broccoli and tengu feathers.” 

“Tengu feathers?” Jake queried, “I didn’t know there were any left…” 

“They do that thing where they curse themselves into objects now,” Fu clarified, “it's all the rage with the demonic mythicals to get revenge on mortals. The last recorded instance of Tengu activity was a few clicks south of Amity Park, nearly eight centuries ago.” 

The young dragon scratched his head, “So? What does that have to do with anything? If you hadn’t noticed, the Fenton’s literally situated themselves on top of a nuclear bomb’s worth of righteous paranormal energy--” 

“You know who else smelled like tengu feathers?” Fu interjected, “That ninja kid. The one who crashed into us piloting that-- What the hell was that kid flying?” 

“Whatever it was, it talked in high English like he was robin-hood-- like out of a period drama- like those ren faire dorks on Staten Island. You know the ones? Goin’ on about the thrill of the hunt.” Jake felt the bruise under his rib from where the sharp point of Skulker’s head impaled him. Jake crossed his arms, “That kid is after the Phantom too. He was at the Nasty Burger-- he’s the one who brought the building down.” 

“I thought you did that--” 

“Partially-- I partially was to blame for that, yes.” Jake retorted, his fork tongue hissing between his teeth, “The Phantom put me through the roof, then the ninja pulled me through and then-- it collapsed.” The dragon stressed, “Big dif-- major dif.” 

“Either way, that kid the other one,” Fu gestured as if the ninja was standing there in the lab, "If he’s got tengu connections-- we are up shi--” 

Mrs Fenton called down from the first floor, “Jake, are you partial to orange? I’m afraid we don’t have many options!” 

“I’m okay with anything!” Jake shouted up. Before turning back to Fu, who was snickering, “Don’t laugh- I’m doing this for you-- I’m doing this for G, I’m doing this for all dragon-kind. Don’t you dare hold this against me. I am cool, aight?”

“Trixie is going to flip.” The dog smirked. 

Jake groaned, “did you find the mirror the spirit bailed from?” 

“It was a risky maneuver-- But I have faith you can pull this off, Jake,” Fu removed the now broken compact mirror, “it's not like these humans are gonna actually know what it's used for.” 

“Still, I don’t want them stepping on broken glass-- or whatever,” Jake mumbled, “We can barely afford to be careful. Apparently, we couldn’t afford more mirrors either.” 

“Hey, I don’t even want to be holding this thing--” Fu said, putting the compact into his fat folds, “Mirrors are nothing but trouble, I already have several lifetimes of bad luck, and-- and I thought we would only need the one for Invisobill.” 

The fell of heavy footsteps down the stairs. Fu automatically switched back to all fours. Jake got to his knees and patted the ground. Fu ran towards the young dragon. Jake squished his face like how a normal child would pet their dog-- cooing at him. He wondered if other kids had to scratch their father figure’s butt in front of company. 

“Aw, I wish Danny was actually responsible enough to keep a dog,” Maddie looked at the scene. 

Jack added, “I wish Jazz didn’t have so many responsibilities to keep a dog.” 

Unfurling out a rather huge orange boiler suit like a state flag, Mrs Fenton thrusted it towards Jake. The young dragon found himself trying to put on the performance of his life. 

* * *

The classroom was empty with no teacher insight. The only light was the natural daylight filtered through the gloomy overcast. No one made any move to turn on the fluorescents. The first group of Norrisville kids, Randy, Julian, and Morgan, were all on opposing sides of the room. Away from each other. They took their seats and waited for what they assumed was a class. Morgan mentioned that they could leave if no one showed up to count them after fifteen minutes, while Julian babbled to the shrunken skull from his top hat. 

Eventually, three other students of Casper high origin entered the classroom. One was a lackey of Dash, Randy had recognized. He had a horrendous haircut that made Randy reminisce on his older grade school photos before his parents let him style his hair himself. The bowl cut made his Asian side wince. The other two were girls Randy couldn’t place, but they entered with the confidence that they were in the right room. That was enough to take at face value. The big guy separated and sat at the table with Julian. The girl with the frizzy top bun and crop top went with Morgan. Randy looked up to see the last student hang back with hesitation. She glanced at him, and he felt the need to look away like he had done something wrong. 

The girl in yellow sashayed to Randy’s table. With a slam, her books found the table. Causing Cunningham to sit up. She didn’t say anything, an apology or otherwise. Folding out a piece of paper like a weapon, her eyes scanned it. She read quietly before crumpling it up in disgust.

“I hate these icebreaker games--” The girl idly looked at her watch and then the window almost expectantly. She didn’t seem to want to look at Randy, which Cunningham was used to. Though she seemed flighty like she had somewhere else to be. He was unsure if he was supposed to be insulted or not. The girl bounced her leg, “So Let’s just skip ahead; I’m Valerie Grey-- your Casper High chaperone. My favorite color is--” 

Randy quipped, “Grey?” 

She gave a strained smile, “yeah-- no, it's actually carmine. Anyway, Raymond, My favorite subjects you probably don’t care about are home ec and history.” Valerie gestured for Randy to speak. 

He returned the equally tight-lipped pained grin, “It's Randy actually, I don’t have a favorite subject, and my favorite color is also red but-- scarlet.” Randy insisted, “Not that I don’t want you as my chaperone, but you seem kind of busy. I’d uh prefer it if I just hang with the people I already know here.”

“Trust me, kid, I’d love nothing more than to let you go do your own freaky Norrisville thing,” Val said with a little too much pride, “but as a member of the student council--” 

“The school and city hall has informed us that it is our duty as Casper High’s ‘leaders’ to make sure the Norrisville kids have ‘responsible’ parties leading them to and from the school and the hotel.” 

“This is so bogus,” Cunningham scoffed. 

The girl cleared her throat, pointing out Randy’s wrapped foot, “Considering you and a Casper High Student were injured in a ghost confrontation when you should’ve been either at the hotel or with your teacher observing the after school activities we offer. I’d say that I came in the nick of time.” 

Randy groaned. 

Shrugging, she also couldn’t help but compile a list of things she’d rather be doing than… this. Valerie didn’t like the attitude, though she couldn’t help but sympathize. She signed up for student council when she was still wealthy enough to be considered part of the A-listers clique. Now, she hardly wanted anything to do with people these days. Her heart wasn’t broken, but it was hollow. When she thought about her heart now, to her, it was just used to pump blood to her fists, so when she hit back-- she hit back hard. Grey didn’t care about this interaction. In her mind, it was already over. He had just become another face in the faceless ocean of students. 

Cunningham picked at a growing tear in his jeans, “is it at all possible that I can just switch to the person I want to be my chaperone?” 

“If they are on the student council, I can put in a word, but as of right now,” Valerie rested her face into her hand, “You’re stuck with me.” 

Thinking quickly, Randy blurted the first name that came to mind, “Is Danny Fenton on the student council?” 

“Danny Fenton?” She would’ve laughed if that name didn’t always give her an equal dose of nostalgia. Val toyed with her earring, “Uh… no-- no, he’s not. He kind of a nobody around here.” 

“I’d like him to be my chaperone. I was with him during that ghost attack yesterday; he-- he had a very cool head under pressure,” Randy bluffed.

Calmly she countered with precision, “And you think I don’t?”

“... people usually have difficulties with me. So, I figured I’d stick with my own freaky kind.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Valerie softened, “Danny has a way of… making people feel better. Making them-- feel important. Manson and her goon Tucker seem to orbit him like he’s the sun.” 

For a moment, Randy felt his breath catch. He was still a teenage boy prone to moments of feeling important. He scratched his head, “Do you know him?” 

“Do you?” Val leaned back in her chair. 

“We’re…” He rolled his pencil on the table, running his fingers along the woodgrain, “Friends.” 


	12. "On the Fast track to Fat-city!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely we're getting there! We're getting there, I have such a fun time writing Lancer and Pointdexter-- because they've got such a recognizable flair with their voices.

Sam stood outside the boy’s lavatory on the first floor, one of the last sightings of Point Dexter. She was of the belief that some things should stay a mystery. Also, men were pretty gross. Aside from Point Dexter, the other horror stories of the first-floor world studies wing boy’s bathroom included broken locks, graffiti-- and well-- you can imagine. She’d much rather keep a lookout.

The boys had switched off the overhead lights to make Sidney more comfortable. However, he didn’t appear right away. 

“Do you think he’s still mad that you kicked him out of his locker?” Tucker leaned against the stall door.

Danny put his hands on his hips, “I mean-- I figured he’d respect my boundaries for privacy.” 

“His specialty is possessing people.” 

Without a comeback, Fenton sighed. Sidney Pointdexter seemed to have a white knight complex. If no one stood up for the little guy, then who's to say how far the bigger guy would go. It was a valuable virtue-- it just so happened Sidney dispensed lessons through piloting around the people he deemed were the problem. That particular brand of justice was… invasive. Danny had puppeted around people before. He didn’t necessarily enjoy it as much as Pointdexter did. 

The boys waited in silence. It wasn’t like Sidney had other pressing engagements to attend to in the ghost zone. 

Tuck lamented, “So… now what?” 

“You should shove me," Danny replied 

“Why?” 

Teasingly, Danny grinned, “When will I ever give you another opportunity?” 

Rearing back, Foley threw his weight onto Danny’s chest. Fenton gripped one of the sink basins for stability. Holding his eyes shut, he didn’t hear anything. He opened one eye, and Tucker stood there, now confused and another touch irritated. He opened his mouth to speak, only a grey light to emerge from his throat-- 

Snorting, ‘Tucker’ asked meekly, “Is this guy bothering you?” 

“Sidney, you need to get a phone. It's gotta be easier to contact you than…” Danny gestured to Tucker’s situation, “this.” 

Wringing his raptor posed hands, the spirit gave a nebbish wave of Foley's hand, “Hey there, daddio! If it isn't the ghost zone’s most wanted.” 

Cringing, Danny powered through a smile.

It was true that Pointdexter, while one of the best overshadowers in the business, couldn’t hold a solid form in the human world for long. He couldn’t interact with human objects unless he was wearing a person. He was also perma-stuck in the 50s. He was very plainly stuck in a mirrored reflection of Casper High-- it was super _Pleasantville_ in there. 

Unzipping his bag, Danny produced Sam’s eyeshadow palette, which she chose to donate for this specific mission, “We don’t have time for small talk, I know you’re probably still peeved that I smashed your mirror--” 

“Quite the opposite, actually.” Sid finally popped out of Tucker, landing in a cracked mirror by a stall with a busted lock, “See, with all the glass here in the lavatory-- a cat like myself gets some room to spread out.” 

Overshadowing the uninitiated tended to leave a nasty migraine. Tucker grabbed the sides of his head, “Danny, you’re lucky I’m not trying to kill you too.” 

Putting his hand on his chin sympathetically, Dex offered, “What’s got you all zorros and sorrows, me amigos? What’s the tale nightingale? Feel free to bash my ears about it; I hardly get company who doesn't just come for the can.” 

Tucker started off with his question, “We wanted to learn more about you… and the natural ways ghosts can manifest in the human world. Do you know how the mirrors work?” 

“It's quite simple. They’re just doorways-- though only some of them are locked. The truly perceptive, like yours truly can use all of them. I guess my sacrifice is that I’m not exactly… on the stick-- power-wise, that is. Only the truly old or the truly weak can use the mirrors as freely as I can.” 

Danny muttered, “could Clockwork use the mirrors like you do?” 

“You get a nosebleed? Of course, he can.” Sidney chortled, “He hardly ever seems to leave that tower of his unless he wants to preach, don’t know why he would. Walker is another oddity. Suppose it's because he’s about a decade or so my senior. He’s one of the best at overshadowing.” 

“Don’t remind us.” Tucker and Danny said in tandem.

The nerd rambled absentmindedly, pacing around the bathroom from mirror to mirror, “Then, of course, there’s the mysterious case of one Desiree… she’s older than dirt, but since she’s cursed and that’s a whole other--” He noticed how confused his audience was. 

“Meanwhile, back at the ranch; why are you fellas askin’ me?” 

“Curiosity, mostly.” Tucker leaned against the wall, wondering if it was obvious that he was uncomfortable. 

Picking the center mirror between Danny and Tucker, Pointdexter drummed his fingers against the glass, turning the interrogation around, “It wouldn’t happen to be about a certain knife that went missing last week?” 

“Knife?” Danny spun around.

“Walker’s been goin’ nuts trying to find one of his toys from his collection.” the ghost picked at the gap in his buck teeth. Broccoli apparently lodged its way into his face. A Gross sucking sound echoed off the tile. 

The boys shuddered. Moving away from the wall to keep a close eye on Pointdexter-- a ghost is still a ghost after all. 

“Seems to think you had something to do with it, halfa.”

“I didn’t--!” Danny shouted.

Dex flinched, losing his nerve when he realized he didn’t have the firepower to back up the claims. He mollified, “I’m no squealer-- I wouldn’t tell, even if you did.” 

“I haven’t seen Walker’s knife.” Fenton reiterated, “Is that why everyone’s been so stirred up?” 

“He’s even got outside help, agitating the gravel. The very top of paranormal authority. All Combing Amity Park for it. Apparently, It was a very precious thing, that knife. Belonged to some, ancient-- whosamawhatits-- one of those-- Kurosawa types.” 

Tucker supposed that was the least offensive term Sid could use to describe an Asian person. He rolled his eyes. 

Dexter gave a warning, “I wouldn’t want to be you right now halfa, you’re in more of a hot seat than Macarthur.”

“I know!” Danny snapped, yelling-- his voice cracking, “I know-- I’m constantly in danger. My worst enemy is on my Dad’s emergency contact list. Do you think I’m that stupid not to know--?” 

Tucker and the ghost backed away in shock. 

“I--” Danny swallowed, “I know… I know I’m in danger. Everyone I love is in danger. Because I couldn’t stay dead. I’ve never fought because I wanted to. I fought to keep everyone I know safe. At any moment, they could be in trouble because of me! I fight for them because not everyone gets second chances.” He panted, touching, no, pulling at the center of his shirt-- the phantom repeated, “Not everyone gets second chances like me, Sidney.” 

“That’s why I’m asking you to listen to me.” 

Dexter nodded, still staggering from the sudden outburst. He nodded with a new sense of fear and responsibility for his fellow ghost. Producing Sam’s eyeshadow palette, he put it onto the sink, nudging it forward.

“Oh my…” The spirit uttered. Inspecting it, pushing his glasses further onto his nose. He hadn’t seen such colors in his neck of the woods. Not any as sparkly either. 

Danny pleaded, gesturing to the makeup box, “we’re asking you-- we’re begging you really because there’s a threat in Amity Park that I can’t handle by myself. We need you to keep an eye on this guy we know-- Because I have a hunch, he might know something about Walker’s missing knife.” 

The spirit studied the box for a moment, where all that could be heard was Tucker’s breathing and the leaky sinks of the boy’s lavatory. 

“If not me, for the good of the ghost zone…” Danny urged, “Think about it if you were the one to bring back the knife to Walker-- I’d bet he’d deputize you or give you whatever you wanted most in the whole world.” 

Sincerely the nerd reached his invisible hand from the mirror-- toward Fenton, “Aw, I don’t need none of that-- I’d do it for you because we’re-- why-- we’re pals, right?” 

Danny turned his hand intangible, shaking Dexter’s thin wrist, “... yeah-- yeah Sid, we’re-- we’re pals.” 

Yanking the thinner boy from the mirror, the phantom continued his white lie, “And I’m counting on you to make things right.” 

“Of course!” Sidney picked up the mirror from the sink, and with a flash of grey light, the box was heading straight for the floor-- Tucker’s reflexes kicked in and caught it. 

“Say does that stacked subterranean own this little powder box?” Sidney queried, “wouldn’t mind bein’ in the passion pit with her, pardon the locker room talk--” 

Tucker looked at Danny with equal parts concern and exasperation. 

Meanwhile, Danny couldn’t meet his eyes. 

  
  



End file.
